The Bride Chooses a Highlander

by Adrienne Basso

  “Aye,” Lachlan agreed. “But a Highlander appreciates sport and loves a contest. The McKenna might consider granting me the right to fight fer yer freedom.”

  Katherine clasped her hand over her heart. “With swords?”

  Lachlan brushed her arm soothingly. “A contest of skill and stamina, Katherine. Not a battle to the death.”

  A nervous laugh rushed from Robbie’s lips. “What if ye lose? Will I have to stay longer?”

  Lachlan’s brow rose. The possibility of being defeated honestly never crossed his mind. ’Twas not arrogance exactly—well, perhaps a bit.

  “I willnae be defeated,” Lachlan proclaimed.

  “I thank ye fer yer offer of help, but I dinnae need it. My sentence was one year and I’ve already worked nine months of it. I’ll stay until I pay my debt in full.” Robbie cleared his throat. “Truth be told, I was hoping that after the year was reached, I’d be allowed to remain and continue working in the quarry fer a wage.”

  “Ye’re a MacTavish,” Lachlan protested. “If there’s work to be given, it will go to a McKenna man.”

  “Perhaps ye could use yer influence with the laird and make the request on my behalf?” Robbie asked hopefully.

  Lachlan snorted. “And break yer mother’s heart? Nay! She’ll be filled with grief if ye dinnae return home.”

  ’Twas the most daft notion Lachlan had ever heard. Robbie was the son and brother of a laird, not a common laborer. He had been trained to be a warrior, to defend the honor and property of his clan. Lachlan braced himself for a heated argument, but Robbie pivoted away and was no longer paying him any mind.

  What the bloody hell was going on? Had his brother worked out in the sun too long? Hit his head upon a large stone and addled his brain? Quirking his brow in puzzlement and frustration, Lachlan turned to Katherine.

  She looped her arm through his and leaned close. “Look yonder and ye’ll see what—or rather who—is distracting Robbie so completely.”

  Scratching his head, Lachlan first looked at his brother. Robbie was standing slack-jawed, his eyes fixed upon a lass who was walking near. She was a pretty creature, with long dark hair and clear, milky skin. Though fine-boned, she managed to carry a large wicker basket in her arms with ease.

  “Who’s that lass ye are searing with yer gaze?” Lachlan asked.

  “Her name is Glynnis,” Robbie replied in a voice tinged with awe. “She helps Cook make and serve our meals.”

  “She’s a comely lass,” Lachlan observed.

  “She’s beautiful, an angel in both looks and temperament,” Robbie replied. “All the men stop working to watch her whenever she comes to the quarry.”

  “Including ye,” Lachlan remarked dryly.

  “Especially me.” Robbie sighed. “A short, simple conversation between us leaves me joyful fer days.”

  “Och, so she’s a natural flirt then,” Lachlan countered.

  “Nay, ye’re wrong,” Robbie insisted vehemently. “See how she keeps her gaze modestly lowered. She is a paragon, with a gentle voice, a quick wit, and a kind heart. There is no finer woman in all the land.”

  “Fie, he has it bad,” Katherine whispered beneath her breath.

  Damn, Katherine was right. His brother was clearly a lovesick fool. “If she means so much to ye, then ask her father fer her hand and bring her home as soon as ye are set free.”

  “Her mother is an invalid. Glynnis cares fer her and willnae leave. Besides, I’ve nothing to offer her at MacTavish Keep.”

  The truth of that statement stung. Lachlan’s plans to improve conditions for the clan had not yet reached fruition, yet he remained hopeful his petition to the crown would be considered soon—and granted. But until that time, he had nothing with which to tempt his brother to come home.

  “’Tis time to return to work, MacTavish,” a stern voice boomed from the quarry gates.

  Robbie’s eyes grew anxious. “I must hurry away.”

  “Aye.” Lachlan pulled his cloak tight across his shoulders as he and Katherine prepared to leave. “I shall write to Mother and let her know that ye are well. As fer telling the rest, that I leave to ye, Brother.”

  * * *

  Lachlan was silent on the journey back to the castle and Katherine also remained quiet, respecting his need to mull over all that they had learned.

  “I need to write to Lady Morag,” Lachlan said when they reached the courtyard, dismounted, and proceeded into the great hall. “She will be greatly relieved to hear that I have seen and spoken with Robbie and that he is well.”

  Katherine rested her head on Lachlan’s shoulder. “What else will ye tell her?”

  “Nothing. I meant it when I said ’twas Robbie’s responsibility to tell her—and Aiden—the rest.”

  The irony of the situation was not lost on Katherine. Aiden had kidnapped her in hopes of exchanging her for Robbie’s freedom. But Robbie had no desire to leave McKenna captivity and in all likelihood would not have left even if Lachlan had consented to the plan for an exchange.

  “Damn it, Aileen! Stop pestering me or I swear I shall turn ye over my knee and spank ye like a bairn!”

  “I dare ye to try, Brian McKenna!”

  Katherine stopped short. She looked across the room and saw her mother standing guard over the McKenna, who was seated in a cushioned chair in front of one of the enormous fireplaces. The pair were glaring daggers at each other, locked in yet another of their famous battles of will.

  “What’s wrong?” Katherine asked her mother, momentarily forgetting her determination to avoid her sire.

  “Yer father willnae drink the tincture I’ve prepared,” Lady Aileen huffed, her face flushed with annoyance. “He’s acting like a babe, mewling and protesting and carrying on worse than Callum when he’s tired and needs a nap.”

  “Fer the last time, Aileen, I’m not ill,” the McKenna shouted. But his voice cracked and he bent forward, succumbing to a fit of coughing.

  “Och, well then, what’s all that noise ye’re making, Brian McKenna?” Lady Aileen folded her arms across her chest. “Ye kept me awake half the night, hacking and sputtering like a goose.”

  Concerned, Katherine drew closer. The noxious odor struck first. Her nose wrinkled in distaste and her eyes began to tear. ’Twas then she noticed the tankard that her father was holding gingerly away from his body.

  “Ye’ve made him a cure, Mother?” Katherine asked.

  “Aye. And I’ll not leave his side until he drinks every last drop of it.”

  Oh, dear. Her mother’s healing skills were legendary—for all the wrong reasons. Judging by the smell, this potion could do far more harm than good. Even if her father did manage to drink it, the contents would most likely not stay inside him for long.

  Katherine exchanged a look with Lachlan. He nodded in understanding, then suddenly tripped himself forward, knocking the McKenna’s hand and spilling the medicine on the floor. One of the castle hounds lounging nearby hurried over to investigate. The dog sniffed the puddle of liquid, then jerked up his head, turned tail, and ran.

  “Fergive my clumsiness,” Lachlan apologized as he righted himself.

  “Dinnae fret,” Lady Aileen replied. “I made a full pitcher of the brew. ’Tis best drunk when hot. It will take but a few moments to prepare another dose.”

  Muttering to herself, Lady Aileen departed. The moment she was gone, the McKenna turned a pleading eye on Katherine.

  “Fer God’s sake, Daughter, take pity on me and stop her,” he begged.

  Katherine tossed her head. “My husband and I have already aided ye,” she replied, stooping to wipe the foul-smelling liquid off the floor. Some of it had already seeped into the rushes and Katherine determined they would need to be replaced—as soon as possible.

  “Saints preserve us, ye heard yer mother. She concocted an entire pitcher of this vile stuff. ’Tis more likely to kill than cure me, as ye well know.”

  The McKenna broke into another fit of coughs. Hearing her f
ather struggle for breath brought on a tumble of emotions inside Katherine, chief among them worry. Her father’s cough sounded nasty, maybe even serious. He might truly be ill.

  Flushed with concern, she knelt at his side. “Mother is right. Ye must take some medicine to ease the tightness in yer chest and prevent the cough from overtaking yer lungs and stealing yer breath.”

  “I should have known ye’d take yer mother’s side against me,” the McKenna lamented. “Neither of ye have any respect fer my authority.”

  Katherine lowered her head to hide her grin. He was acting like a bairn. “We only want ye to get well.”

  “I’m not ill!” the McKenna shouted before doubling over.

  Deep, rumbling coughs echoed through the hall, even as the McKenna fought to contain them from escaping his throat. Katherine placed her hand on her father’s back and rubbed, her concern deepening.

  “Katherine is recently recovered from a similar ailment. She could show Lady Aileen a more palatable recipe to ease yer cough,” Lachlan suggested.

  The McKenna’s nostrils flared and he sat upright. “I promise that I’ll drink whatever Katherine prepares fer me.”

  Katherine cast her father a skeptical look, fighting against being pleased at his faith in her. “Me? Ye’ll trust me to such a task?”

  “Have I cause to worry? Is yer anger still so great that ye would mix a tincture that could do me harm, Daughter?”

  A tight emotion constricted Katherine’s chest. “I hold my anger so that I may fight fer what I am owed, as ye have taught me. Ye refused to accept my marriage, refuse to bequeath my dowry to my husband, as is right and proper. And so I’ll ask ye again to reconsider—seriously—paying my dowry.”

  The McKenna knitted his brow and leveled a hard stare at her. “Och, so ye think to strike at me while I’m at my weakest?”

  “I will use any advantage that presents itself.”

  The McKenna remained still. Katherine tilted her head to see him better. She was prepared for more anger and protest, but his features were oddly calm.

  “Three wagons filled with sacks of grain, winter vegetables, and other foodstuffs were dispatched north to the MacTavish Keep this very morning,” the McKenna said quietly.

  Katherine’s heart stilled. “Part of my dowry?”

  “Aye. Yer husband told me that his people were hungry. I couldn’t let them starve, could I?”

  Her chest swelled with emotion. Did she dare to hope that her father was finally starting to see reason? Was the riff between them beginning to mend?

  “What of my dower lands?” she asked.

  She felt Lachlan’s tender touch on her shoulder. “We should save any further discussions about yer dowry until yer father is feeling better.”

  Katherine nodded. Lachlan was right. This was a significant gesture from her prideful father, a sure sign that he was softening his stance over her marriage. ’Twould be best to graciously accept this victory and bide her time until the next opportunity presented itself to press her suit.

  “I’ll steep mint leaves and willow bark, then add honey and whiskey to a mixture that should ease yer coughing,” Katherine said.

  “It sounds like the nectar of the gods,” the McKenna said wistfully.

  “I shall also convince Mother to allow ye to drink my tincture instead of hers,” Katherine added.

  “I am grateful to ye, Daughter.”

  “There is no need, Father,” she replied truthfully. “The McKennas care fer their own.”

  “Aye.” The McKenna sniffed. “Now hurry and catch yer mother before she returns with more of her evil brew. If she does, I shall be forced to spill it upon myself and I’ve no doubt the foul odor will forever linger, even if this garment is washed a hundred times.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “May we ride beyond the large boulder near the loch today, Aunt Katherine?” Lileas asked excitedly. “That’s where all the birds go to build their nests. I want to look and see if we can find one with eggs inside.”

  “’Tis much farther than we usually go,” Katherine replied. “Ye and Callum will get tired and so will yer ponies.”

  “But we did it last summer with Uncle Graham and we never got tired,” Lileas protested. “Not even once. Uncle Graham always agreed it was the best place of all to ride. Please, please will ye and Uncle Lachlan take us.”

  Lachlan bit back his smile. Barely six years old and Lileas McKenna was most assuredly the boldest lass in all the Highlands. He didn’t envy Malcolm and Joan’s job of raising—and controlling—such a free-spirited lass.

  “’Tis not summertime now, ’tis the cold winter and I dinnae think yer father would approve of such a long outing,” Katherine replied.

  “Papa willnae mind,” Lileas insisted. “He likes it when Callum and I are happy.”

  Katherine’s brow rose. “Does he now?”

  “Aye.” Lileas nodded her head enthusiastically. “So does Mama.”

  Katherine blew out her breath and Lachlan’s smile broke free. These morning rides with the children had quickly become part of their daily routine and Lachlan was surprised by how much he enjoyed them. Callum was a good-natured lad, thoughtful and intelligent, and Lileas never ceased to provide a challenge to everyone’s patience.

  He started toward them, preparing to lend Katherine assistance, when his attention was diverted by a rider thundering into the bailey.

  There was no mistaking the distinct colors of the MacTavish plaid the man wore. His horse was frothing at the mouth, evidence of a long, hard, swift ride. Two stable lads ran out to meet him. One held the horse while the other reached out to steady the rider as he dismounted.

  “I must see Laird MacTavish at once,” the rider demanded as he struggled to catch his breath. “Do ye know where I can find him?”

  Apprehension shivered down Lachlan’s spine as he stepped forward, realizing the man looked familiar.

  “Jamie?” he asked, recognizing one of Aiden’s men.

  “Aye, Laird.” Jamie bent forward and placed his hands on his knees, attempting to steady his breathing. “I’ve an urgent message fer ye.”

  Straightening, Jamie reached beneath his tunic and pulled out a rumpled parchment. Apparently, it had been written in such haste a seal had not been employed to close it.

  Lachlan quickly read the brief note. “Do ye know what this says?” he asked the exhausted messenger.

  Jamie nodded. “Mostly. ’Tis about yer brother Aiden. Three days ago he was captured by the Frasers. Ye must come at once.”

  Katherine was suddenly at Lachlan’s side, her face wide with anxiety. “Who sent this message?”

  “Lady Morag,” Jamie replied.

  “What does she say?” Katherine asked, peering over Lachlan’s shoulder.

  Hastily, he crumbled the letter in his hands. “Aiden is being held by Archibald Fraser. He demands that I come to his castle and meet with him or else he shall torture my brother until he no longer breathes.”

  “Dear God!” Eyes wide with fright, Katherine squeezed Lachlan’s arm. “What will ye do?”

  “I must go.”

  Lachlan stole a glance at Katherine. Her lips were pursed so tightly with fear they had turned white. He hated causing her such distress, but his duty was clear.

  Katherine grabbed his hand and held it against her breast. “This could be a trick, Lachlan, a ruse that will put both ye and Aiden in the Fraser dungeons.”

  “That thought has certainly crossed my mind,” Lachlan admitted, lowering his voice so he would not be overheard.

  “As well it should,” Katherine hissed. “And there is more to consider. Who knows if this is indeed true? They could all be conspiring against ye—Lady Morag, Aiden, and Fraser. ’Tis no secret that Aiden wants to be laird. And ye cannae have forgotten that ’twas Lady Morag who sent Fraser the message about me.”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing, Katherine,” he replied, almost wishing he hadn’t told Katherine about Lady Morag’s lapse i
n judgment. “But if this is true and Aiden is indeed in Fraser’s clutches . . .”

  Katherine’s eyes grew rounder. “Christ’s bones.”

  Lachlan lowered his lips to her ear. “Say no more until we are inside. I dinnae want Lileas and Callum to become frightened.”

  The curious pair had wandered close. Katherine distracted them with the promise of sweets and a long ride to look for a bird’s nest. The two happily scampered off to the kitchen for their treats. Meanwhile, he and Katherine escorted Jamie into the castle.

  “Mary, fetch food and ale fer Laird MacTavish’s man,” Katherine ordered the servant. “Then send someone to find my brothers.”

  “What can ye tell us, Jamie?” Lachlan asked as soon as Malcolm and Graham arrived.

  The messenger shrugged helplessly. “Aiden was hunting with a group of his men when the Frasers attacked. They wounded several of the others and took Aiden with them. A missive arrived a few hours later from Laird Fraser, stating his demands. Lady Morag bade me to come find ye with all due haste.”

  “How is Lady Morag?” Lachlan inquired.

  “Frantic with worry,” Jamie replied.

  “That fear is not misplaced,” Malcolm muttered under his breath. “Fraser is not a man known fer his mercy.”

  Lachlan silently agreed. Jamie shoved a meat pie into his mouth and drained his tankard of ale and Lachlan wondered how long it had been since the messenger had eaten.

  “Ye’ve ridden hard,” Graham observed.

  “Steadily fer two days and two nights,” Jamie acknowledged. “Fraser is not a patient man. I had to reach Lachlan quickly if Aiden is to have any chance of surviving.”

  Lachlan noticed that Lady Joan had joined them. She stood beside her husband, her expression grim.

  “We need yer help, dearest.” Malcolm tenderly cupped her chin and she looked directly into his eyes. “Fraser has captured Lachlan’s brother. We need to devise a rescue plan. Ye lived at the castle fer several years. What can ye tell us about its defenses?”

  Joan shuddered. “Archibald takes great pride in making the castle impenetrable. Though a miser at heart, he does part with his coin to pay fer the defense of his property. His soldiers are well trained and ruthless and always fight to kill.”