Adrienne Basso (15 page)

“Though if she’s as beautiful as they say, ye might enjoy being in hell,” Aidan snickered.

The men broke into laughter, and Gavin couldn’t help but join them. He took another long sip of the whiskey, conceding it was aiding him in this discussion.

“All right, then. I need to stay away from Colville, McKenna, and Shana Agnew,” he said, wishing he had a quill to cross the names off the list entirely. No matter, he’d remember. And if he didn’t, Aidan, Connor, and Duncan would remind him.

Duncan frowned. “What’s wrong with Shana Agnew?”

“She’s a whiny, frightened rabbit of a female who likes to wail with every passing emotion,” Gavin muttered.

“Sweet Jesus!” Aidan swore. “Ye don’t need to stay away from that lass, ye need to run as far as ye can!”

“Now, repeat the names of the lasses ye will consider,” Aidan suggested. “’Tis easier to make a choice with fewer women.”

“Nay,” Duncan interrupted. “I say ignore the women and concentrate on the clan and the alliance. Which match is better fer all of us?”

“Excellent point.” Gavin lifted his cup in a toast, then drained it and promptly filled it again. Squinting down at the parchment, he slowly read the names, leaving out the ones they had already rejected.

The three brothers listened attentively, yet remained quiet. Gavin mulled over the choices. “Sinclair?”

Duncan tilted his head. “Aye.”

“Agreed.” Connor let out a long breath.

Aidan nodded. “Sinclair is the best choice. He’s a fierce warrior and his men are well trained. His lands are close, his coffers full, his judgment fair, though harsh at times.”

“His daughter?” Gavin said quietly.

The men exchanged looks. “I’ve not heard anything about the lass,” Aidan admitted, and his brothers nodded in agreement.

“No matter.” Gavin sighed. “This is apolitical match.”

“Still, it makes sense to set eyes on the lass before ye start negotiations,” Connor insisted.

“Or at least make inquiries,” Duncan added.

Gavin leaned back and gave the trio an amused look. “Bloody hell, just listen to us! Gossiping like a gaggle of old crones. The Sinclair lass will come with an impressive dowry of land, a noble pedigree, and the political alliance the king seeks. The rest is unimportant.”

Yet even as Gavin spoke them, the words left a sour taste in his mouth. Despite the various benefits, he still hadn’t fully accepted the notion of wedding a stranger. A picture formed in his mind of his unknown bride standing stiff and silent beside him outside the chapel doors while the priest prompted them to recite their vows. ’Twas not an overly appealing sight.

“Will ye present a formal offer in writing to Laird Sinclair, or discuss the terms in person?” Aidan inquired.

Gavin heaved a sigh of resignation. “I’ll think on it a few more days and then decide.”

 

 

Fiona felt the weight of Alice’s censuring stare as the maid watched her add another pinch of herbs to the small pot simmering over the blazing fire.

“I need more wood, Alice. Kindly place another log on the fire.”

Warily Alice obeyed the command, placing the wood on the edge of the fireplace, then pushing it into the flames with her foot. The small chamber was already beastly hot, noxious vapors permeating the entire space. But this was the only place in the entire castle where Fiona could be assured of privacy, leaving her no choice but to brew her draught in her tiny bedchamber.

Fiona knew there were many who would condemn her for what she was doing, including Father Niall. Preventing conception was a moral sin, but Fiona had always contended it was a woman’s burden either way, and not something a man could decide.

Through the years she had shared her herbal knowledge with many a desperate woman, trying to offer counsel and solace to ensure that a lethal dose was not taken. Yet she never would have believed that someday she would be the one in need of assistance.

Several of the required herbs were growing in the kitchen garden she weeded. They had been the simplest to obtain. The rest could be found in the castle stillroom, which was kept unlocked so the cook could season their meals and Hamish could dispense medicines to those who fell ill.

Still, Fiona had been fearful of anyone seeing her taking what she needed, so after giving her very detailed instructions on what to look for, Fiona had sent Alice to the stillroom to fetch the other herbs.

“’Tis poison, my lady,” Alice said in a nervous whisper.

Fiona gazed about the room. They were obviously alone, yet Alice felt the need to whisper. A clear indication of her fear. But it could not sway Fiona’s resolve.

“This medicine will help to bring on my courses a bit sooner than usual,” Fiona said calmly. “Nothing more.”

“It could also bring on your death,” Alice hissed, her eyes wide with worry. “I’ve heard tell of a woman who had the life bleed out of her after drinking a similar brew.”

Fiona blanched. She was well aware of the dangers, to both her body and her mortal soul. But she had no other choice. “I cannot risk the earl’s seed taking root inside my womb. ’Twould be a disaster.”

“Father Niall says a child is a blessing.”

“A babe is truly a miracle,” Fiona agreed. “Lest you forget, I already have a son and he deserves my protection. What would happen to Spencer if I became pregnant?”

“Do you think the earl would abandon you?”

“I’m uncertain.” Fiona rubbed her brow, confusion tearing at her gut. “His assumption that I was barren brought an odd sense of relief to his expression when he spoke of it.”

“But you are not barren,” Alice exclaimed. “Why would the earl think such a thing?”

“More than ten years wed and no children of my own. ’Tis a logical conclusion to reach.”

Alice blushed and lowered her eyes. Having served Fiona all of her married life, the maid was well aware of how infrequently the baron shared her mistress’s bed. “Can you not trust in the good Lord to guide your future?”

Regretfully, Fiona shook her head. “I cannot leave Spencer to an uncertain fate. The risk is too great. For all of us, but most especially for some poor innocent babe. Ewan Gilroy is proof enough that being born a bastard is a harsh life around here.”

After wrapping her hand with thick cloth, Fiona carefully removed the bubbling cauldron from the fire and set it on the floor beneath the window. Alice peered inside and Fiona could see the maid’s surprise at the meager amount. But Fiona knew she had made enough for an effective dose.

Fiona extracted a few spoonfuls and dribbled them into a cup. Well aware of Alice’s disapproving frown, Fiona stared at the contents for several minutes, waiting for it to cool.

Then with a sudden stab of regret, she lifted the goblet to her lips, and drank.

 

 

Gavin sat brooding in the great hall after the evening meal, his eyes resting on the group of women clustered in front of the fireplace. Fiona was among them, spinning a ball of wool into thread. Well, not precisely among them. Though engaged in the same work, she sat slightly apart, an obvious outcast. Her dour maid was beside her and if not for the servant, she would be completely isolated.

Lifting his arms above his head, Gavin stretched out the stiffness in his back. The motion brought him higher in his chair and that’s when he noticed Fiona did have one other companion. That mangy dog.

The beast was curled at her feet, no doubt snoring loudly. It gave him a queer sense of comfort knowing that she had a valiant protector, even if he was of the four-legged variety.

“I need to speak with ye on a delicate matter concerning Lady Fiona,” Hamish said.

Gavin eyed his steward. After the day he’d had, he was not in the mood to listen to any more problems. Yet duty always came first. “Aye.”

Hamish cleared his throat. “The other women dinnae like the lady,” the steward muttered.

Gavin twisted his head to see if anyone else had overheard the remark. Then feeling foolish for acting so concerned, he shrugged. “’Tis of no importance. What matters is that I like Lady Fiona.”

“Forgive me, milord. Naturally yer desires are all that matter.”

Gavin grunted with satisfaction and waved the steward away. Hamish turned, then paused. He took a breath and glanced again at the earl hesitatingly.

“Speak,” Gavin commanded. “’Tis obvious there is more to say, which in all likelihood I willnae want to hear, but ye believe it needs to be told.”

“The castle women resent Lady Fiona’s interference in the daily routine. Her insistence on helping with various chores has caused resentment and discord among the women. They complain of it to me daily.”

“Since when is working a crime? I should think they would be pleased at having her assistance or at least admire her efforts.”

Hamish released a beleaguered sigh. “They are females, milord.”

“I suppose ye want me to speak of this to Lady Fiona?”

“If ye think it best,” Hamish said humbly.

Gavin drummed his fingers restlessly on the wooden table. Leave it to a bunch of women to make a problem where one shouldn’t exist.

“Tell them that if they prefer, I shall instruct Lady Fiona to cease her efforts to work alongside them. She will instead conduct herself like a pampered, noble lady and demand to be waited upon. By them.”

Hamish’s face brightened with interest. “Very good, milord. I will take great pleasure in relating yer wishes.”

 

 

Fiona was expecting the cramps and the headache, for they usually accompanied her menses, but she was unprepared for the exhaustion. She hoped concentrating on a task would help keep her awake, but her eyelids felt so heavy she couldn’t control their drifting down over her eyes. At times she could barely catch a glimpse of the thread she was trying to spin—at others she saw two fuzzy strings through blurry, unfocused eyes.

More than anything she wanted to drag herself up the stairs and crawl into her own bed. Alone. So she could suffer in silent privacy. But no one left the hall without seeking the earl’s permission and she was in no mood to ask him.

“Shall we retire, milady?”

Fiona’s head snapped up and she stared at Gavin. Her mind had been drifting in a state of exhaustion and she hadn’t even heard him approach. Relieved she could finally leave, she rose and Gavin caught her hand.

By the time they reached the top of the staircase, Fiona felt as though her legs would collapse if she took another step. She muttered a hasty good night to Gavin, then gratefully reached for the latch on her bedchamber door, but his booming voice stopped her.

“Where do ye think yer going?”

“To bed, to sleep,” Fiona muttered, too tired to turn around. Besides, there was no need to see the scowl on his face when she could hear it so clearly in his voice. “I suddenly feel exhausted.”

“Why are ye going into that chamber?”

Fiona closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. “I cannot . . . that is to say, I need to be alone tonight. And the next few nights,” she added hastily.

“Fiona, is something wrong?”

Yes! You are a half-wit!
He’d been married before, surely he knew about this sort of thing. Her head still pressed against the door, she turned it and stared at him pointedly, hoping the truth would dawn upon him. Or at least he’d take the hint and leave her alone. Unfortunately, his gaze remained puzzled.

“’Tis my womanly time, Gavin,” Fiona groaned, in too much discomfort to be delicate.

“I dinnae care. Come to my bed.”

Fiona whirled around. Her head was starting to feel as though it were splitting in half. “I need to be alone,” she repeated.

“I never put much stock in the teachings that a woman is unclean during her time of the month. ’Tis a part of nature; how can that be something so fearful?”

“’Tis a woman’s burden, to be endured alone,” Fiona grimaced.

“Are ye in pain?”

Her face whitened. “I . . . well . . . I cannot discuss this with you,” she muttered.

“I’ll send for yer maid. Now come into my chamber.”

Alice arrived a short while later with Fiona’s nightclothes, a basin of warm water, and other essentials. Gavin stayed on the opposite side of the chamber, allowing Fiona some privacy. But the minute Alice departed, he came to the bed.

“Turn on yer side, Fiona.”

She lifted a corner of the cloth Alice had kindly placed on her forehead and glared at him. “Have you lost your mind?”

Gavin looked insulted. “Och, I’m not an animal. Now do as I say.”

Realizing that arguing would only deplete her strength and increase her headache, Fiona did as he asked, deliberately facing away from him. She could hear his deep chuckle and then his hands were on her back, first rubbing the tension in her shoulders, then moving to the center.

She let out a shuddering sigh of relief. It felt marvelous. The tight knots in her lower back began to ease. Fiona felt her entire body start to relax. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, she felt him kiss her neck, then lightly nibble a path to her ear.

“Gavin,” she muttered in a warning tone.

“Shh,” he murmured gently. “I’m merely saying good night. Though I dinnae want ye thinking I was too chivalrous that I’d deny myself the chance fer a wee taste of yer sweetness.”

Fiona grinned, the trace of a smile still on her lips when the blissful oblivion of sleep claimed her a few minutes later.

The shouting from the sentries was heard clearly in the bailey below. Gavin, who had been observing the squires’ morning training on the practice field, immediately rose to his feet. Duncan and Connor joined him, and the three men climbed up the stone stairs to the battlements. They met Aidan coming down.

“The guards have spied a large party on horseback headed this way,” Aidan informed them.

“Soldiers?” Gavin questioned.

Aidan nodded. “Archers, too.”

“Are they flying a battle flag?”

“They’re too far away to be certain.”

“Sound the alarm fer the villagers to remain in their homes,” Gavin commanded. “And put our archers and men on the wall.”

Orders given, Gavin glanced at the keep, his eyes searching for the narrow slit of his bedchamber window. Fiona had stayed abed late every morning this past week, emerging after the noon meal. The first few days she looked pale and wan, but yesterday a spot of color had returned to her cheeks, along with the sparkle in her eyes.

’Twas a good sign that she was feeling better, yet Gavin hoped she would keep to her current pattern and remain in his chamber. It was one of the safest spots in the castle.

“Connor thinks they might be flying the McKenna banner, but they’re still too far away to see it clearly.” Aidan leaned close and whispered, “If I hadn’t seen the king with my own eyes last week, I would say it was him. By all accounts, it looks like a very grand caravan. The soldiers are riding three abreast and their numbers are so large we cannae see the end of the column.”

“We’ve no quarrel with the McKennas,” Duncan exclaimed. “Why would they be marching on us?”

Gavin inwardly groaned. “I see Robert’s hand at work. Apparently, he is more anxious fer me to select a bride than he claimed.”

“We’ve already ruled out the McKenna lass,” Aidan said. “Her fiery temper and matching red hair were more than ye were willing to take on.”

“I remember,” Gavin replied. He shielded his eyes against the sun, straining to get a better look at the approaching riders, searching for the one thing he hoped not to find. “God’s wounds!”

“What? What is it?” Duncan asked anxiously.

“Women,” Gavin grunted. “There are women riding in the middle of the line.”

“Dammit.” Aidan shook his head in sympathy. “Looks like McKenna has decided not to wait fer an offer and instead is bringing a bride to ye.”

“Should we deny them entrance?” Connor suggested.

Gavin scowled at him. “And start a feud?”

“We could say there is sickness within our walls.” Deep in thought, Duncan scrunched his face tightly, then suddenly brightened. “Or the plague. No one will pass through our gates if there is even a hint of plague.”

Gavin groaned and lifted his head toward the sky. The only thing dafter than Duncan’s suggestion was the strong temptation Gavin felt at agreeing with the crazy idea.

“The McLendons are not cowards. We willnae hide behind a lie like a gaggle of weak women,” Gavin admonished. “Go find Hamish and tell him to prepare a fitting meal fer our unexpected guests. I want barrels of our best ale brought up from the cellars for all the McKenna soldiers, too.”

Connor frowned. “Why are we wasting our best ale on that lot?”

“’Cause if things turn nasty, I want McKenna’s men to be plied with drink,” Gavin explained. “I’m sure the captain of their guard will make certain they dinnae lose their senses entirely, but their reactions with sword and bow will be slower.”

“Christ Almighty, maybe it would be better to say we have the plague,” Aidan grumbled.

Gavin almost nodded in agreement. He pictured the long line of soldiers being turned away at the gates, the McKenna lass with them. Now that would be a sight to bring a smile to his lips.

“Keep our men on the wall,” Gavin ordered. “Best to be prepared without need than to be caught unawares.”

He left the trio on the ramparts and walked to the bailey, deciding he would stand at the entrance to the great hall to greet his uninvited guests. However, his attention was diverted when Fiona came through the door and stood at his side.

“I heard the alarm and saw the approaching men. Will there be trouble?”

“Not if I can prevent it.”

She nodded, her face visibly relaxing. The sight of her trusting eyes hit him like a punch in the gullet. Her faith in him was humbling and uncomfortable, for it was something he didn’t fully deserve.

Guilt, swift and sure, stabbed Gavin’s conscience. That trust would undoubtedly be crushed from Fiona’s eyes when she discovered he was taking a new bride. The one small comfort was knowing that wasn’t going to happen today.

“’Tis the McKennas, just as we thought,” Duncan shouted from the wall, his deep voice booming through the bailey.

“Are they your enemies?” Fiona raised her hand to her mouth and began to nibble on a fingernail, a sure sign of nerves.

“Nay.”
And I hope to keep it that way.
Gavin rested his hands on his hips and bowed his head. At all costs, he needed to remember his first priority was to secure support for Robert’s cause. And that meant that Fiona must not be standing here when their unexpected guests arrived. As much for her protection as Gavin’s convenience.

Laird McKenna was already going to be disappointed when he learned that Gavin had no intention of making an offer of marriage to the man’s sister. ’Twould be a double insult to do it with his English mistress by his side.

“The McKennas are Highlanders, a breed with an unmatched Scottish pride,” Gavin said.

Fiona recovered her poise, hastily lowering her hand from her mouth. “I take it they do not care for the English?”

“More than most.”

“Shall I retire to my chamber?”

“Nay, lass, go wait in my chamber. In my bed.” He winked and she blushed. He wondered if she could feel him undressing her with his eyes. It had been six days since he had made love to her and the simmering passion inside him was starting to boil. “These uninvited guests shouldn’t stay more than a few hours.”

Fiona’s back straightened. Then to his utter surprise, she took hold of his face between her palms and kissed him. “I shall await your pleasure,” she whispered breathlessly.

Now standing alone on the steps of the entrance to the great hall, Gavin composed his features into impassivity. He could hear the shouts from the wall as the McKennas asked for admittance, the creak of the metal chains as the drawbridge was lowered.

The ground reverberated, the dust flew and swirled in the still air as the McKenna party filled the bailey. Gavin forced a tight smile on his lips and waited for the laird to dismount.

Brian McKenna was a bear of a man, very tall and broad-shouldered, with brawny arms and an expansive chest. His face was young, yet lined with the worry and strain of a man responsible for the fate and well-being of many.

Perhaps because of that responsibility, he was armed to the eyeteeth, carrying two swords, a battle-ax, and a long, thin-bladed dirk that sported a single red jewel in the handle. The sight of all those weapons gave Gavin pause, and he wondered if McKenna was indeed the ruthless brute many claimed him to be.

“I bid ye welcome and offer ye the hospitality of our clan,” Gavin said formally.

“I thank ye fer receiving us,” Laird Brian McKenna replied, his voice thundering through the bailey.

Several of the servants working in the area halted their chores to glance at them. Mayhap it was the wild winds and rolling hills of the Highlands that called for such a loud, booming voice. Or perhaps the laird just liked to bellow. Gavin widened his grin to assure his servants there was no cause for alarm, then motioned for them to resume their work.

“I’ve instructed my servants to prepare a respite for all of ye,” Gavin said.

“’Tis a most gracious welcome,” the laird replied. “We’ve been traveling since dawn and the dust of the road has left us parched. ’Twould be a great relief if my sister could rest fer a few hours before we continue our journey home to the Highlands. She’s a delicate lass, unused to the discomforts of travel.”

Gavin’s eyes narrowed. There was an almost playful arrogance about the man that might cause one to underestimate his intelligence. But Gavin was not so easily misled. McKenna had made a point of mentioning his sister within moments of their arrival. Clearly a calculated move, since it forced Gavin to now follow polite custom and escort the lady inside himself.

He had no wish to insult McKenna, especially since the man would be leaving without securing a betrothal arrangement.

Gavin waited for the young woman to dismount from her palfrey and then extended his hand to her.

He heard her sharp intake of breath before she very gingerly placed her small hand into his. He felt her entire body tremble with each step she took, yet she kept moving forward.

She was delicate and fragile, a tiny bit of a thing. The top of her veiled head barely reached Gavin’s shoulder. As they walked the length of the great hall to the raised dais, he shifted his gaze to glance at her face, surprised at what he beheld.

She had the same startling gray eyes as her brother, a bow-shaped mouth, and a healthy dose of blushing pink color on her cheeks. Her hair was hidden beneath a linen veil, but he swore the few wisps that had escaped were a deep auburn color.

Yet it was her age that puzzled him most. Why, she was no more than fifteen or sixteen. Was this the hot-tempered McKenna lass whose fiery tongue had skewered many a man with the sharpness of a blade? It hardly seemed possible.

Aside from her youth, the lass had the distinct sheltered expression of a female raised within convent walls. Clearly, Connor’s information about the McKenna lass was wrong. Gavin’s jaw hardened, wondering what other unpleasant surprises awaited him.

“Please, milord, I would prefer to sit here among my attendants,” the lass said softly, stopping at the table closest to the dais.

Gavin paused. His conversation with her brother would be far more private if she were seated away from them and would spare her the humiliation of being spoken about as though she were an item to be bartered instead of a person of worth.

He almost said as much to her before catching himself.
God’s wounds, when did I become so aware and concerned about a woman’s feelings?
Shaking off the notion, Gavin agreed to her request. But only because it gave him an advantage.

With a fluttering breath, the McKenna lass perched herself on the very edge of her seat. Shrugging at the uncomfortable position, Gavin moved to the dais and sat in his chair, then motioned for the laird to take the seat on his left.

McKenna took to heart Gavin’s offer of making himself welcome. The young man lounged comfortably in his chair, tankard of ale in one hand, elbow of the other arm resting on the wooden arm of the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him.

But Gavin was not fooled by this casual attitude. There was focus in McKenna’s expression and a keen observation in his eyes as they scanned the great hall. Missing nothing, Gavin decided.

There was no need to struggle with polite conversation; McKenna drained his tankard, refilled it, then spoke. “Tell me, do ye still have a great affection for Robert the Bruce?” he asked.

“I do. And what of ye, McKenna? Will ye support yer king?”

McKenna cocked his head to one side. “I might, with the proper enticement.”

Gavin raised a brow. “Is freedom from the English not enough fer ye?”

McKenna shrugged. “We are a long way from being separated from the harsh rule of England. Those who are on the wrong side when this war ends will suffer harsh reprisals, most likely losing everything they own, and very possibly their lives.”

“Aye, the stakes are high. That’s why we must win.” McKenna leaned back, folding his arms across his wide chest. “The Bruce is a man greedy fer power. Why should I trust that he will treat us any better than the English if he succeeds in keeping his crown?”

“He shares our blood,” Gavin replied smoothly. “Many talk of the differences among Highlanders and Lowlanders, but there is no denying that we have more in common with each other than the damn English.”

“Ye believe he will do what is best fer Scotland, yet I have my doubts,” McKenna said bluntly. He speared a piece of cheese with the tip of his knife, pulled it through his teeth and began chewing. “However, a union between our clans would go a long way toward easing those doubts.”

Gavin went completely still, determined to appear as though he were considering the notion. “I confess, I have heard some rather . . . uhm . . . outrageous tales about the redheaded McKenna lass.”

“Yet ye still opened yer gates and bid me welcome?” McKenna hooted so loudly with laughter he began to cough. “Ye’re either a very brave or very desperate man,” he finished hoarsely.

“Neither,” Gavin said dryly as he refilled the laird’s tankard. He glanced over at the women. McKenna’s sister had finished her food and drink and now sat with her fingers tightly intertwined, precisely as one did when praying. A quick glance at the scheming expression on her brother’s face made that seem a wise precaution, though it was impossible to tell what the lass was asking for with her prayers. “Tell me about her.”

“The rumors about my sister are all true,” McKenna said in an almost cheerful voice. “She’s a shrew of a female; disobedient, willful, and defiant to the end. A man could lose his mind trying to reason with her, and that’s a fact. Truth be told, I wouldn’t wish her upon my most despised enemy.”

“Yet ye are offering her hand to me in marriage?” Gavin asked, astonished at McKenna’s bluntness. He didn’t seem to be a fool, yet it was a ridiculous approach for a man trying to negotiate a match.

McKenna smiled, revealing a row of large, even teeth. “My sister, Caitlyn, the hellcat, has run off with a landless knight; a French mercenary she professes to love with all her heart.” McKenna scoffed in disgust, a hard edge entering his voice. “’Twill be a rude awakening when her new husband discovers she’s forfeited her dowry by defying me and marrying without my permission. I’d like to see how much he loves her then.”