Highlander’s Veiled Bride: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highland Seductresses Book 2)

by Shona Thompson

  “Noo, there is something that we agree on,” Angus teased. It was easier than telling Donal that he and Vanora were the reason why he had managed to overcome the grief that almost swallowed him after he found out the truth about Vika; they were the only reason why he had managed to get back onto his feet, and even though they lived days apart from each other and their only contact for a while had been through letters, they had been there for him more than anyone else had.

  “Weel . . . yer a married man noo,” Donal reminded him. “Ye’ll ken what it’s like to be married soon enough.”

  “I’ve been married before. I ken what it’s like.”

  “Nay . . . nay, ye dinnae ken anything,” Donal insisted. “Ye dinnae ken what it’s like to be married to the lass that ye love. Ye’ve been married before, but ye have never lived through anything like that.”

  Angus frowned at Donal, giving him a small, disbelieving smile. “What is it like, then, since ye ken everything?”

  “It’s verra nice, lad,” Donal said. “It’s verra nice.”

  Angus couldn’t help but laugh at that. He shook his head at Donal’s ridiculousness, but from his experience up until that moment, he had to agree with him. He knew it was still too soon to judge how his marriage to Ishbel would go, but something inside him told him that she was the one.

  He loved her utterly and completely, in a way that he had loved no other woman before, not even Vika. Compared to the love that he felt for Ishbel, his feelings for Vika had been nothing more than an infatuation, one that he had simply mistaken for love.

  Donal looked at him then, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something, but when their eyes met, he hesitated, closing his mouth once more. Angus frowned, tilting his head to the side as he gave his friend a small, curious smile.

  “What is it?”

  “I dinnae wish to anger ye, Angus,” Donal warned him.

  “Then dinnae anger me,” Angus said.

  “Weel . . . I dinnae wish to, but I must ask,” Donal said. “Ye ken how much Ishbel looks like Vika, aye? Do ye think . . . do ye think that . . .”

  Angus knew what Donal was going to ask; of course, he did. He liked to watch him squirm as he tried to find the right words, though, and so he wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. He simply watched him expectantly, eyes wide and curious, trying to suppress the amused smile that threatened to spread on his lips.

  “Do ye think that it has something to do with yer . . . feelings for her?” Donal finally managed to say. “I dinnae mean to say that ye dinnae love her. I simply wonder if . . . if her appearance . . .”

  “Yer wondering if her resemblance to Vika made me fall in love with her,” Angus said, matter-of-factly. It was a question that he had asked himself, too, a few times, the ghost of Vika lingering in his memories. He had wondered—no, not wondered, but feared — that Ishbel’s resemblance to Vika had something to do with his attraction to her, but he had come to realize that it was so much more than that.

  Angus wasn’t seeking Vika in her. Ishbel could look like anyone or no one, and Angus knew that he would still love her more than anything in the world.

  “I thought ye dinnae wish to anger me,” he said, though his tone was teasing, and he gave Donal a smirk. He couldn’t blame him for asking, after all; Donal was his best friend, and he had his best interest at heart. After Vika’s actions, which had affected Donal just as much as they had Angus, it was only natural for him to worry.

  “Forgive me, Angus, it wasnae my place to—”

  “It’s alright,” Angus assured him. “I understand . . . I understand why yer asking. I would ask, too, if I were in yer place. But nay . . . nay, this has nothing to do with Vika. Once ye get to ken Ishbel, ye’ll see why I married her. I think I would’ve married her regardless of her appearance.”

  As they were talking about Vika, Angus found it hard to not wonder where she could be. Donal had mentioned, in passing, that Vanora had found out about Vika’s escape from the monastery where Angus had put her after she had committed all her crimes.

  He wasn’t particularly surprised that she had escaped; she had always been a cunning woman. He couldn’t think of a single place where she could have gone, though, and that disturbed him.

  She could be closer to him than he knew.

  “What are ye thinking?” Donal asked.

  He had always been able to tell when something bothered Angus when he was concerned about something. Angus had never been able to hide anything from him.

  “Vika,” Angus admitted. “I can’t help but wonder where she is.”

  “Hopefully far, far away from here,” Donal said. “I wouldnae worry too much if I were ye. She has no reason to come back to Knapdale, Angus. She has no one there, she kens that there isnae anything that she can do. She kens that the moment she steps foot in Knapdale, she’ll be sent right back to the monastery.”

  Angus couldn’t argue with that. If he found out that Vika was in Knapdale, he would certainly send her right back to where she had come from. Vika was no fool, either, and Angus doubted that she would come back and risk getting caught.

  She didn’t even have any reason to do so, though Angus was certain that she was dreaming of a day when she would get revenge.

  “Do ye think I made a mistake?”

  Angus could hardly get the words out of his mouth. There was a knot in his throat that he tried to swallow, but his efforts were to no avail, and when Donal gave him an inquisitive look, he had to take a small pause and a few deep breaths before he could answer him.

  “Do ye think I made a mistake by sending her to the monastery?” he clarified. “Perhaps, I should have . . . sometimes I wonder if I should have ordered her execution . . . or kept her imprisoned, at least.”

  “Weel . . . I suppose in a way ye kept her imprisoned,” Donal reasoned. “Ye sent her to the monastery, and ye thought that she was going to stay there. I’m sure her life there wasnae that great since all she ever wanted was to be the Lady of a clan.”

  “I suppose so,” Angus agreed. “But I canna help but think that she will ruin someone else’s life noo that she has escaped. I canna help but worry that she is somewhere out there, and she is taking advantage of another man.”

  Donal didn’t reply, but the look he gave Angus was one of understanding and worry. He nodded, a simple, reassuring gesture that did much more for Angus than a lie ever could.

  Vika had escaped, and she could, indeed, be somewhere out there, ruining lives. It was what she did best, after all, and if it was true, then it would be something that would haunt Angus for the rest of his life, but what was done was done. Vika was not his biggest problem at that moment, and the last thing that he needed was to focus so much on her and on what she could be up to that he forgot about the danger the Keith clan posed.

  There was a battle ahead, and he had to focus.

  “What about Hamish?” Angus asked then, a small frown on his face. “What has gotten into him, do ye think?”

  “Och, Hamish has always been a wee fool,” Donal said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m nae surprised that he has started a war. The lad always had big dreams.”

  “What I dinnae understand is why Laird Keith allowed him to do such a thing,” Angus said. “I’ve said it before . . . the Keiths and the MacMillans have always been allies, and noo Laird Keith allowed Hamish to ruin that, and for what? What does the Laird want?”

  “I dinnae think the Laird wants anything,” Donal said. “If he did, then he’d be the one waging war against yer clan, but he isnae the one who killed all those men, women, and children in the village.”

  “Weel . . . I doubt an old man like him would come and fight his own fights,” Angus pointed out. “If he were to wage a war, he would send other men to fight for him. Men like Hamish.”

  “Could it be something that yer father did?” Donal asked though he sounded doubtful, a hand coming up to scratch at his chin.

  “Nay . . . why wait for so long i
f me father had done something to anger the Laird?” Angus asked. “Weel, I suppose we will find out soon enough.”

  The first light of dawn had not broken through the horizon quite yet, but the sky was getting lighter and lighter with every passing moment. According to Angus’ spies, Hamish and his men were close, and Angus kept an eye out as he led his men to their location, fearful that perhaps Hamish had heard about the ambush, just like Angus had heard about his whereabouts.

  There were spies everywhere those days. Angus couldn’t know how much information Hamish had.

  The closer Angus led Donal and their men to the location that his spies had provided, the faster his heart began to beat in his chest. He had been a Laird for several years, and a capable warrior for even longer before that, and yet every time that there was a fight of any sort, he was afraid.

  He wasn’t afraid for himself. Angus had never worried about his own life, he had never been concerned about the fact that he was going to die one day, and that day could be soon. What he had always worried about, though, was leading other men to their deaths.

  He knew that was what war was. He knew that it was his duty to protect his people as the Laird of his clan. Even his men knew that their lives could be lost in the war, but that it was their duty to lay down their lives if it meant that the rest of the clan would survive.

  Still, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming wave of guilt crash over him every time that he had to make a decision that could affect dozens of lives. He had never felt ready for that, no matter how much his father and Cormag had prepared him for it while he was growing up.

  He wondered if Donal often felt the same when it came to his own men. He wondered if he, too, was scared going on a war with the Keiths, if he was afraid that his men would die right in front of his eyes, while there would be nothing for him to do to save them.

  He didn’t dare ask. He knew that Donal wouldn’t judge him for it, but he didn’t want any of their men to hear him speak about such things, not when he was just about to lead them into a battle. He had to be calm, and he had to be confident; he had to protect his men as much as he could.

  They were getting close to their enemy, and Angus could tell by the stiffness in his men’s shoulders, the way they, too, had begun to glance around the woods cautiously, expecting someone to jump out of the trees and attack them. He could see it in the way that everyone seemed to be riding slower, with more care than before, trying to make as little noise as possible.

  Soon, they would have to leave their horses and continue the rest of the way on foot, so that Hamish’s men wouldn’t hear them coming. Soon, they would be facing an enemy that Angus hadn’t even known he had up until a few weeks prior, and he would be sending some of his men to an early grave.

  Angus took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then, he motioned at his men to stop, and all of them jumped off their horses, tying them to the trees so that they could come back for them.

  “This it is, lads,” Angus said, once everyone else was gathered around him, his men eagerly awaiting orders. “It’s time to fight.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “M’lady!” Mrs. Gillies exclaimed when Ishbel stepped foot into the kitchens, her hair tied up securely, and her sleeves pushed up above her shoulders, ready to go to work. “What are ye doing here? It’s much too early for ye to be out of bed.”

  “You’re out of bed,” Ishbel pointed out. “I’m here to help, Mrs. Gillies. Tell the entire clan that they are invited to the castle today, for some food and prayer. It’s the least I can do for the women and children whose husbands and fathers are fighting with the Laird.”

  “Weel . . . if ye wish for them to come to the castle, then I can take care of everything,” Mrs. Gillies assured her. “Ye dinnae have to come and work in the kitchens, m’lady, there are plenty of us here who can do all the work.”

  Ishbel gave Mrs. Gillies a small, reassuring smile as she reached for her hands and held them in her own. “Mrs. Gillies, I wish to help,” she said. “You must remember that I wasn’t always the Lady of a clan, and though I am far from the best cook in the castle, I have hands, and I can use them for work. I used to cook with my uncle every single day, it’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

  “But—”

  “Mrs. Gillies.”

  “Yer the Lad—”

  “Please.”

  Mrs. Gillies threw her hands in the air, seemingly exasperated with Ishbel. “Fine, lass. Have it yer way,” she said. “But ken that such work isnae fit for the Lady of the clan. If anyone sees ye, they’ll ken that ye’ve been working in the kitchens.”

  “I have no problem with that,” Ishbel assured the other woman. “Now . . . what do you want me to do?”

  Mrs. Gillies hesitated once more, before finally relenting and gesturing at some of the younger women in the kitchen to gather around them.

  “Lady MacMillan wishes to help with the preparations of food,” she announced, and her announcement was met with a chorus of surprised, disbelieving gasps, which Mrs. Gillies promptly ignored. “Show her the kitchen and give her a task, lasses.”

  With that, Mrs. Gillies left Ishbel with the other women, who were happy to show her around and to have her help them, though Ishbel could sense their hesitation, as well. They didn’t want her to carry heavy crates, and they were reluctant to give her a task that could stain her clothes or even her hands, but Ishbel assured them that it was perfectly fine.

  It had been a long time since she had last truly spoken to another woman, apart from the pleasantries that came with living in a castle. She had missed her friends in France dearly, the girls that she saw almost daily, and only then did she realize that she had been so focused on Angus, her uncle, and the war to think about anything else, especially herself.

  Talking to the women in the kitchen and cooking with them was the most fun she had had in a long while, and she knew that when everything was over when Angus would be back, and there would be no more war, she would beg Mrs. Gillies to continue helping them.

  Besides, the tasks that she had been given kept her hands, and her mind occupied, so she didn’t worry as much for the lives of the clansmen who had gone to fight with Angus and Donal. She could finally breathe deeply, and she even laughed with the other women, glad to have met some new people with whom she felt like she belonged.

  After all, Ishbel may have been raised in a wealthy family, but not so wealthy that she never had to lift a single finger, and her role as the Lady of the clan was a new one, one that she hadn’t quite grown into yet—it had been less than a day, of course, and so she couldn’t blame herself.

  “Will ye tell us a story, Lady MacMillan?” one of the women asked. She seemed to be the youngest of them all, her face still clinging onto the baby fat that covered her cheeks, and her eyes bright and inquisitive. “We heard that ye say the best stories in all of Knapdale!”

  “Is that so?” Ishbel asked, smiling at the eager faces around her, who all looked at her expectantly. She couldn’t say no to them even if she wanted to. “Well, I am flattered, and yes, I’d be happy to tell you one. Let’s see . . . have you heard the one about the maiden and the pirate?”

  The women around her shook their heads, and Ishbel began to narrate the story as they worked, some of them chopping the vegetables while others prepared meats and dough.

  “Once upon a time, there was a maiden, fair and kind,” Ishbel said as she began her story. “She lived in a grand house with her father, the apple of his eye, and the suitors lined outside her door for just one chance to gaze upon her beauty.”

  The more Ishbel spoke, the more the other women in the kitchen began to focus more on her than on the food, until their knives were abandoned and the food long forgotten. Ishbel had abandoned her own task, as well, and she was acting out the story instead, with sweeping gestures and big steps from one side of the room to the other.

  While she was narrating the part of the story where the maiden, hardened by the adv
entures that she had lived through, killed a sea monster, Ishbel grabbed a knife and jumped onto a table, landing on both feet with a loud thud.

  The women around her gasped, all of them so invested in the story that their gazes followed Ishbel around the room as she moved.

  “And then . . . bang!” Ishbel said as she stabbed the air with her knife and kicked an imaginary foe. “She stabbed her blade through the beast’s heart, and with a kick, she threw it back into the ocean.”

  That was how Mrs. Gillies found them, Ishbel standing on the table with the knife in her hand, and the rest of the women gathered around her, transfixed.

  “What are ye all doing here?” Mrs. Gillies asked, her hands on her hips as she stared all of them down, even Ishbel herself. “Get back to work! We have a whole town of people to feed, thanks to Lady MacMillan! And ye, m’lady! What are ye doing on the table? Get down before ye hurt yerself!”