The Highland Wife
“What?” the old man asked warily, his gaze darting here and there, avoiding Rob’s.
Rob eyed him steadily, waiting, not bothering to define what the man already knew but was obviously reluctant to discuss.
“Aye, I told her, but I was brief.” He ducked his head, then looked up again. “And I left it late,” MacInness admitted.
“Late?” Rob repeated, sorely afraid he now understood the woman’s anger all too well. “How late?”
The laird looked shame-faced and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Today. Just now.”
Rob exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Damn.”
“She’ll grow accustomed,” MacInness said hopefully. “Mairi is a guid lass. Kind,” he added.
“When you told her,” Rob asked, hiding his apprehension, “she was angry?”
Rob did not want her to reject him, he realized. With others, he had not cared so much. Except for Jehannie. Her betrayal had nearly destroyed him. Since she had broken their long-standing betrothal, he had cared not one way or the other whether he ever wed anyone.
If he had not needed to produce an heir for Baincroft, he would never have agreed for Thomas to contract a match for him. He had felt no great rush to wed anyone. Not until he had seen this woman…
“Nay! Nay. ’Tis not that which angered her,” the laird assured him, shaking his head. “She but wants courting, I think. All women do.”
Rob nodded. Courting, of course. He should do that, yet he had little time or inclination for it. Nor did he think it necessary in this instance. The betrothal contract had been signed. The woman was his. All that remained was signing the marriage documents and repeating the vows. And the bedding, of course. Not likely he would forget that now that he had met her.
He chewed his bottom lip for a second, caught himself doing so and quickly smoothed his features. If he did not court her properly as her father suggested, she might be the one willing to forget that final detail of the ceremony that Rob so looked forward to accomplishing.
She could cry off the match and he would never touch that fair, smooth skin of hers the way he wanted, or inhale fully that subtle scent of roses she wore. Not to mention the other pleasures he now anticipated.
Fine, then. He would court, but he would not prolong it. Now, he only wished to wed and go home again.
Once they reached Baincroft, the lady would soon see that she had no reason to doubt his ability to care for her and the children they would make together. There, among his people, lay his best chance to impress a wife.
However, if she wanted constant courting and sweet words daily after their marriage, she might go lacking. Rob had tried being courtly with his first betrothed as soon as she’d grown old enough for it. That had come to no good end.
His beloved stepfather and brother had been right all those years ago to caution him against showing any gentler feelings he might have. They had said he must cultivate a stern and commanding demeanor in order to gain respect.
Though both had spoken of Rob’s dealings with other lords, knights and men of business, Rob wondered if the advice might not hold true for women he wished to respect him.
Should he play the smiling, teasing courtier with this one as he often did with the women he sought for pleasure? Or ought he to remain somewhat aloof, since she was a noble and about to be his wife? He wished Trouville or Henri were here to advise him in this.
He did not like to be away from Baincroft, especially in these strange surroundings where he knew only the four men who rode with him. Because of their low rank, he could not keep them close by in these delicate encounters with his future bride and the MacInness laird.
Had Thomas come with them to speak for him, matters might be proceeding more smoothly. Then this would not be so difficult because Thomas already knew these people. Unfortunately, that one lay abed back at Baincroft with a broken leg.
Rob damned his luck, losing the services of his friend and factor at such a critical time. The loss of his usual self-confidence plagued him. Jehannie’s doing, of course.
Only once, as a child needing the love of a father, had he given any particular care at all as to what a person thought of him or his abilities. Until Jehannie had refused to wed him.
Since that time, self-doubt had increased with every new acquaintance he made. He must somehow recapture his early certainty of his worthiness. His mother had worked too diligently to instill that for him to lose it forever. But he much doubted he would regain it here and now amongst these people.
Was it lack of courting alone that had put the Lady Mairi off? No matter how much he might wish that were the case, Rob found it hard to believe. Especially in view of what she had only just learned about him. That surely must play a part.
Well, it was her misfortune, then, if she could not deal with her lot in life. The bride price was paid. She must honor her father’s contract. Rob would have her.
The laird looked miserable, he noticed. Sad to be losing his daughter, Rob surmised. Losing her to such a man as the MacBain could not be easy for him.
Rob admitted he might feel the same way in like circumstance. Thomas said that he had explained everything in detail to MacInness. Since the laird had only told her just now, she would not have those details as yet.
Would she be consoled to know that Rob’s deafness would not pass down to their children? His mother assured him this was so, since he had been able to hear for a while after his birth. A fever had stolen the sounds.
Would it help her to know that he could hear some things? He scoffed at that as soon as he thought of it. Heavy drumbeats and shrill whistles did not count for much when nothing but muffled silence existed between the two extremes. No, she likely would not care about the fine points of it. To all intent and purpose, he was deaf as a stone and that was that.
The contract had cost him dearly because MacInness had not wanted to let Lady Mairi go to him as wife at first, so Thomas had said. However, the laird had needed to see to his daughter’s future now that he was growing old. Rob might not be able to hear the lass, but he could make her a very wealthy woman.
In return for the bride price, Rob would gain a crumbling estate near the border as her dower. A bog around rocks, that place. He had gone out of his way to see it on the way here. He might as well have accepted the woman dowerless for all the good that useless property would do him. But he knew such was not done, even among the lower classes, though Rob would have been well content with only her person after having seen her.
Rob needed a son to inherit sooner or later. Considering his deafness, it was not likely any other family of nobles who learned the truth about him would trust him with a daughter. He supposed he must concede something to MacInness for extending that trust.
“For two days, I court,” he promised MacInness, holding up two fingers for emphasis. “Then we wed and go.”
The laird slumped and nodded, then pushed heavily from his chair and flung a hand idly toward the tables at the head of the hall. “Come, eat.”
Rob took his seat in the place of honor. The Lady Mairi did not come to table at all.
The laird said nothing more to him until they had finished their meal. Then he turned and faced Rob with a frown. “Will you be good to my Mairi? Did you like her at all?”
Rob’s heart softened in spite of himself at the parental concern evident in the old man’s eyes and offered what reassurance he could. “Aye, sir,” he affirmed, attempting to remain brusque and failing miserably. “I like her.”
Chapter Two
The next morning Mairi approached the situation more pragmatically than she had the evening before. If she did not marry this baron, nothing would change for her. She would spend the rest of her life counting the linens and shining Craigmuir’s meager collection of silver, upbraiding unruly servants and ordering goods for the keep. Yet, should she accept the man as husband, she at least had some chance of establishing a family of her own, of having children who would love her.
And, at last, she would see what lay beyond the sparsely inhabited hills and glens of the Highlands. More than anything, she longed to see a city, any city. She wanted to travel, to meet new people and hopefully have an adventure along the way. Just one would be enough. Simply wedding the MacBain might provide that last wish, Mairi thought with a hidden grin.
He might not bother to speak to her any more than was strictly necessary, but she had to admit he was not hard to look upon. Given time, she could surely coax some semblance of geniality from him.
Once she accomplished that feat, Mairi suspected that their bedding together would be no unpleasant chore. She believed she had felt his brief assessment of her for that purpose, if none other. She supposed it would have to suffice unless they could find some other common ground. Many marriages had not even that to recommend them.
Determined to show him that she could provide interesting company, Mairi headed to the kitchens soon after Mass and put together a basket of cheese, cold meats and bread fresh from the ovens. She added a flagon of wine and set out to find her betrothed, who had not bothered to attend either Mass or the informal breaking of fast afterward.
She found him in the stable, grooming his steed. “Good morn, m’laird,” she said, summoning her brightest smile.
He smiled back at her, a blindingly sweet expression that stopped her right in her tracks and made her suck in a sharp breath. God’s mercy, the man could spellbind when he put his mind to it, Mairi thought, absently patting her chest with one hand. Her heartbeat had speeded to a dangerous pace and she felt quite giddy of a sudden.
Just as rapidly as it had come, his smile faded. The taciturn baron frowned as he regarded the basket she carried. That left her wondering if she had merely imagined his greeting. Wishful thinking?
Her wits returned, Mairi lifted the cloth on the basket to show him. “I brought food. There’s a wondrous place I could show ye, if ye’d like to ride.” She then lifted a bridle off its peg and handed it to him, nodding toward her mare.
“Ride?” He glanced around them and back at her. “Alone?”
She grinned and cocked her head to one side. “Why not? We are betrothed. Who’s there to censure us? None, that’s who!”
With a shrug of uncertainty, he reached for her saddle. Mairi felt content to simply watch him move as he readied her mount and then his own.
Grace in motion, she thought, impressed by the economy of his every action, the play of muscles just visible through his well-fitted clothing.
Rude or not, he stirred her blood, this man. He was the first to do so, and so she half forgave him for his inattentiveness last evening and the lapse of that enchanting smile just now. Mayhaps he was only shy, or had never been taught better manners.
She could teach him. For a first lesson, she waited expectantly for him to assist her in mounting. After a hasty perusal of her person, he grasped her waist, lifted her as if she weighed no more than the basket of food and plunked her atop her mare.
Had those braw hands of his lingered longer upon her than necessary? She thought so. A good sign, that.
He quickly mounted and they rode in silence for a while with Mairi leading the way. Her special place awaited them, a lovely clearing in the wood where a stream pooled beneath a shallow fall. The ferns and flowers growing there made it seem a faerie glen. They could spend a few quiet hours away from the keep, becoming acquainted.
Not that she would allow him any liberties. He would know better than to attempt that before the wedding, certainly. Or would he?
Mairi smiled to herself, almost wishing he would abandon propriety. Many a couple anticipated their final vows. Not that she would countenance such doings, of course, even to turn him up sweet. A lady must have limits. Da said so.
So many times Mairi had wished to speak with another woman about these matters. Her mother was long dead and the few females left at Craigmuir were not the sort she’d ask for advice of that nature. Most were right free with their favors and made no secret of it.
When they reached her destination, MacBain remained mounted and spent quite some time observing the surrounding woods. She could have sworn he checked the grassy ground for tracks and sniffed the air for trouble. Did he believe she had invited him into a trap of some kind?
“I like it,” he announced finally as he dismounted and came to assist her off her mare.
Then he bent down and quickly gathered a fistful of wildflowers. “For you,” he said, all but glaring as he held them out. Mairi chose to believe he merely worried whether she would appreciate the offering. She decided to ignore the intensity of his regard. God’s truth, he rarely blinked.
“I thank ye!” she muttered, quite taken aback by the gesture, perfunctory as it was. He certainly wasted no time. Or tenderness. However, he had made an effort and she would give him the credit for it.
“Coom with me,” she ordered, reaching for the strong hand she had just emptied of the blooms. She grasped it and pulled him along toward the bank of the stream, set upon making friends with the man, no matter how rough his manners.
He dropped to a sitting position, gently pulling Mairi down with him. Once seated, he glanced at the water, shot her a look of daring and began to remove his boots.
Intrigued at his unexpected hint of laddie-like behavior, she took the dare and did likewise, tossing her shoes and hose over her shoulder onto the grass. In moments, they sat side by side, bare feet slowly swishing in the cold, clear water.
“Ah, here’s a pleasure, in’t?” she commented, lying back upon the lush carpet of green behind her. “Have ye such a place near yer home? Somewhere special to ye as this one is to me?”
Though he did not answer, he reclined on one elbow, leaned over her and fixed that avid gray gaze upon her face. For a moment Mairi thought he might kiss her, but he only reached for the flowers she still held in her hand and chose one.
“Beauty,” he whispered gruffly, teasing her nose with the petals. “Here,” he said, dragging the flower across her lips. “Here,” he repeated, drawing it down her neck to the edge of her chemise that peeked above her gown. “Hiding,” he teased, trailing the small bloom across the fabric covering her breasts and stomach.
Heat flared within her. More than anything, she wished to see that smile of his. She had surprised it out of him once at the stable. Could she do it again?
“Kiss?” she murmured coyly, adopting his peculiar habit of brevity in speech.
As an answer, he simply lowered his mouth to hers. After a moment’s gentle press of his lips, he eased hers open with his tongue. She’d never been kissed so in her life. More’s the pity, Mairi thought, enjoying the sensation immensely. She quickly responded to his exploration with a foray of her own.
She met the hot, wet warmth of his mouth, tasting his heat as her own increased. Encompassed and loving it, Mairi saw no need to withdraw. They gave and took with an abandon that sent a trail of fire down her middle, a consuming blaze she could scarcely control. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as sparks danced behind her eyelids.
When he drew back, breathing as heavily as she, Mairi blinked up at him in wonder, realizing that nothing save their mouths had touched. If he could wreak that sort of havoc with only lips and tongue, whatever might he do with the rest of him? She released a heavy sigh and closed her eyes again, just imagining.
“You want me?” he asked. And sounded serious.
“Is the sky blue?” she replied wryly, eyes still shut, a silly grin stretching her lips wide. “What do ye think, ye foolish lad?”
He laughed. A strange sound, she thought. Too loud and abrupt, as if he did that rarely and it had caught him unaware.
Mairi rather liked his laughter the more because it was not planned. Because she had surprised it out of him. Surely a man could love a woman who made him laugh, especially if he had little laughter in his life.
She would provide that for him, Mairi decided on the instant. Laughter and children. Both, in abundance. She laughed, as well, delighted by the notion.
He seemed easier to be with now, more comfortable in her presence after their kiss and her bit of teasing.
For what seemed hours, they lay side by side, the fingers of her right hand interlaced with those of his left. Now and again, he would turn his head to look at her—sometimes quizzically, other times with satisfaction—but no words passed between them. She detected a ripple of uncertainty beneath his calm, as though he wished to speak of something, but held back.
What a mystery he was! Why did he not ask questions of her or tell her about himself? Mairi longed to know about the home he planned to offer her and the route they would take to reach his keep in the Midlothian.
She kept waiting for him to say something first, so that she would not seem too forward as she must have done last night. But he appeared content to simply lie there, soaking up the errant rays of sun that stole through the foliage of the leaf-laden branches overhead.
Despite her eagerness to learn more of him, there was much to be said for this silent reflection, Mairi thought to herself. Somehow she felt a kind of peace had sprung up between them so that now they might go on from here to some sort of closer communion. It could only bode well for their marriage, their getting on this well after so short a time.
She felt badly for misjudging him last evening and treating him to that wicked temper of hers. Her worst failing was to judge too quickly. He was not the first to suffer for it, but she would make amends.
Likely he had only been tired and out of sorts from the long journey. And very shy, of course. Mairi was firmly convinced that was his greatest problem. Nothing she could not alter, of course. Anyone would vouch that Mairi MacInness harbored not one shy bone in her body.
In a while he got up, replaced his boots and found her shoes and hose for her. While she donned them, he left her to fetch the basket still lashed to her mare’s saddle.
Silently, speaking only with their eyes, they ate, relishing the food and imagining each other’s thoughts.
He held out a sliver of cheese. Mairi leaned forward and accepted it, grazing the tips of his finger and thumb with her lips as she did so. The heat in that gray gaze rekindled the fire inside her his kiss had first ignited. She carefully banked it for now. There were the vows to say yet and he mustn’t think her wanton.
What a strangely intimate meal it was. Now that they had kissed, MacBain’s eyes spoke clearly of what he would rather be doing. Yet he restrained himself, as did she. She chose to believe he did so out of respect for her and applauded that, even as she regretted the rightness of his restraint.
“We should go back,” she said slowly, reluctantly, when they had finished the meal.
He nodded and began to help her gather up the cloths and cups and place them in the basket. Then he rose and offered her his hand.
The instant she gained her feet, he drew her into his arms and surrounded her with his strength. Mairi could feel the warmth of his lips brush the crown of her head.
Never had she felt so protected. And wanted, too. She could hear his heartbeat against her ear when she pressed her head comfortably against his chest. Mairi decided she could stay where she was forever and be content.
The sound of distant thunder distracted her. Puzzling. It had not rained for several days and she had seen no clouds anywhere this morn.
Suddenly he tensed, his hands grasping her shoulders as he set her away from him. When she looked up to question him, she saw how watchful he had become, how alert and still, as though expecting danger.
His nostrils flared as if seeking a particular scent. Then he looked down at her. “Do you hear?”
“Only thunder,” she replied with a shrug. “Still far away, though. It will not reach us for some time yet, but—”
He placed two fingers over her mouth. “Listen.”
Mairi obeyed, tuning her full attention to the rumbling noise. “Not thunder!” she whispered in awe, clutching his forearms. The sound did not abate or vary, but was constant and growing louder. “Hoof beats!” she cried, pushing him away, toward their mounts. “A raid! Coom, we must hurry!”
But MacBain rushed ahead of her. He leaped onto his horse and drew his sword. “Wait here!” he commanded, whirled his mount around and set off at a gallop.
Mairi led her mare over to the same large stone she always used to remount when she came here. In moments, she was right behind him, careful to keep a few lengths distant in the event he would turn and order her back to the glade for safety.
Even some distance away, she heard the shouts and cries and clang of metal. Swords!
When she drew closer, Mairi realized this was no neighborly raid to filch a few of her father’s cattle. Craigmuir was under serious attack.
Rob charged through the open gates of Craigmuir and found hell itself.
Unable to distinguish friend from foe in the melee, he quickly searched for his own men. Markie was down, a dirk in his chest, eyes staring sightless at the sky. On the steps lay the hefty Elmore in a pool of blood. He did not see Newton. Or Wee Andy.
His fleeting gaze snagged on a dark blue mantle spread like wings upon the ground near the well. The laird!
Rob surged toward the attacker towering over his host and slew the raider with one swing of the blade. A small figure darted past the body even as it fell.
“Mairiee!” Rob shouted and swung off his mount. Damn the woman! Had she not heard his order to stay in the wood? Another enemy rushed at him the moment Rob grasped Mairi around the waist. Just in time, he twisted sidewise and thrust his sword up, spitting the oncomer. The opposing blade just missed striking her face.
He roared as he kicked the body off his weapon, furious and frantic to get Mairi to safety. In desperation, he backed against the well wall, trapping her behind him.
“Stay!” he commanded.
Instead she wriggled right past him and ran to her father, who had managed to get to his hands and knees. Rob dispatched another who would have cut him down and then joined her.
Half dragging the laird, he sheltered the two in a corner betwixt the castle wall and the armory and stood guard against any who would do them harm.
He chanced to spy Wee Andy on the parapet wielding his short bow with a vengeance. The stout lad made his next shot, waved Rob’s way and pointed to a tangle of bodies around the gate. He raised one hand and rotated his fist, Newton’s name sign, given for his expertise with a flail. Then Andy held a palm up and quickly turned it down. Newton, dead. Damn!
Rob nodded to show he understood. Of the contingent who had come to Craigmuir with him to fetch his bride, only he and Andy were left. He could not wait to quit this cursed land, to take his bride and go from here.
Had the tournaments taught him nothing? He’d been too long away, that was the problem. Soft, he was becoming. Like the gentle lad he’d once been, harboring that profound reverence for life his father had warned him against revealing to those who might do him ill.
Trouville had encouraged him to travel the Continent with Henri, and thereby caused Rob’s absence when the boy king from England had thrust into Scotland two years ago. Now Rob wished he had been there. He sorely lacked experience in this.
Here was no mock battle with rules set by the marshal and a horn to sound the end. Men were dying, three by his own blade thus far! Mairi’s death had been a very near thing and his own barely avoided. While he did not fear death, neither did he welcome it just yet.