FLAME ACROSS THE HIGHLANDS (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

Summer storm clouds and sunlight competed over the green valley. Opening the shutter of her small bedchamber window, Brianna peered out through the slits,  gazing at the sky, thinking how the day matched the confusion of  her mood.  Laugh or cry, which was it to be?  Of a certainty she hadn't slept a wink last night.  She'd tossed and turned until she was certain she'd made so much noise that poor Glenna's slumber had been disturbed.  All because some arrogant laddie, whom she should scorn anyway for his boldness, was not to be her husband. Robbie Campbell had allowed someone else to be sent in his place. Her assumption had all been a terrible mistake.

Ian not Robbie
of Clan Campbell was the man who had taken such liberties with her. The bold rogue was merely a proxy! Why was that so disturbing? She should be relieved, not unhappy. Certainly she'd have to be daft to even think one moment longer about it.  Ian Campbell was a devilish rogue. She had to believe that Robbie Campbell would be a far better man than
he
.  Even so, she was acutely conscious of the fact that Ian was situated just down the hall from her own chamber.  That knowledge was strangely stirring .

"Get a hold on yerself, lassie," sh
e scolded silently. "Stop wondering what might hae happened
if
."  It would only bring her more frustration. Her mind screamed at her to cease fretting over something not in her control to manipulate. She was promised to another. What's more, she had offered herself into the bargaining. Aye, what was to be, would be. And yet......

The more she thought about
him,
the more confused she became, at herself, her feelings. The burning memory of his kiss drove all else from her mind.  He'd called her a "kelpie" but surely he was
Old Nick
the devil, himself.  He had tried to steal her heart, her soul and had come perilously close to succeeding! But never again.

In anger she  stripped off her sleeping tunic a
nd flung it across the room. A comb and the pillow followed. She'd not think one more moment about him.  Her self-respect, her pride was at stake.  She must act as if nothing had happened, bite her tongue before she ever gave him even an inkling that she was drawn to him. 

"Fie, sister, ye would hae the room in a shambles.  I dinna ken what is the matter wi' ye.   Canna ye  nae even let us hae order for just a few wee 'oors this morn?" Glenna's voice held a tone of scolding as she bounced from the bed to retrieve Brianna's things. Glenna was the tidier of the two and could not stand a mess

"I'm sorry....." 

"Och, so he's gotten under yer skin more than I r
ealized.  I should hae known." Glenna clucked her tongue in sympathy.

Brianna sighed, turning her back on her sister as she dressed in a long saffron-hued shirt and a loin cloth. "I dunna ken what ye mean," she said defensively.

" Aye, ye do. I know what's wrong, Brie."

"Ye canna." Brianna kept her eyes averted from her sister. Her mind rebelled against the ache in her heart.

"I do.  Yer disappointed that he's not Robbie Campbell and I canna blame ye."  Gently touching her shoulder, Glenna turned Brianna around to face her, looking deeply into her eyes.  "Confess..!"

"
Nae, it was the mattress, that's all.  It's lumpy and needs to be restuffed  and I...I didna get a wink of sleep all night."

"I dunna imagine ye did."  Playfully she tugged at Brianna's hair in rebuke,
stifling a giggle.

"Glenna!  Di
nna think that......I...that I...."  Brianna sighed.  It was no use lying to Glenna. "Aye, I was thinking about my mistake  in thinking he was to be my groom. I was such a muddle-brained nanny goat to think such a thing wi' no proof.  But his being here....."               

"Was deceptive.  Och, and I'm sorry I jumped to such a conclusion.  I wouldn'a
hae wanted ye to be unhappy.  It was I who made mention of it first. If only I hadna thought....and said...."

"It doesna matter.  One husband or the other is all the same to me,"
Running her fingers though her flaming red hair, she returned to the window trying to make light of the subject. Looking at the crags and hills she tried to focus her thoughts on other things, but Ian Campbell hovered in the room like a ghost.   "It doesna matter. Really."  Why  then did her voice sound so shaky? "We willna talk about it any more."             

Wrapping a plaid  similar to the kind the men wore, about her waist and shoulders, braiding her hair, she convinced hersel
f to put it far from her mind. She quickly changed the subject, bringing the conversation to the matter of Alastair, listening to Glenna's enraptured cooing.  Glenna was determined to approach their father during the evening's supper and relate to him her desire to marry Alastair.

"I hope he will no' shout at me."

"If he does then just shout back!"  Brianna put an arm about her sister's shoulder.  "Father's bark is far worse than his bite, as ye will one day find out." 

"I di
nna ken......."

"Be braw!"  Brianna pu
rsed her lips in mock severity. "I'll stand behind ye, hinny."

Brianna spent the better part of an hour trying to bolster her sister's courage while  convincing  herself that she cared not a wit for the dark-haired stranger in their midst. For the moment Ian of the Clan Campbell was forgotten.  As a matter of fact
, by  the time she had joined the others in the hall she had talked herself into believing  that all had worked out for the best.  Glenna would marry Alastair  and be secure  living with her own clan. Brianna meanwhile  would join with Robbie Campbell and find excitement in giving the entire clan a challenge.  And that was the end of
that
!                

A long time
had passed since there had been  much to celebrate, what with feuds and so forth.  Now with the promise of peace,  the drone of bagpipes, trill of harps and the sound of happy chatter filled the air.  A dozen or more smiling faces greeted Brianna as she walked through the door.  Though she was not in a particularly good mood, everyone else was, and the gaiety was infectious, soon wiping away her frown.

It was not a feudal society here, there were no serfs to do the work.  All were of the same kin and willingly did whatever chores necessary. Even a chieftain's daughter.  Everyone was busily working at some task or other, thus Brianna  took her place beside the women preparing the food.  Breakfast was to be simpl
e-- porridge and fruit and fish--for the men were eager to be about the day's  activities.  Filling a cauldron with water from a wooden bucket, Brianna was anxious for her chore to be done so that she could  hurry out to the field.                

Thoughts whirled in her head as she brought the water to a boil and let the oatmeal trickle into it.  From the corner of her eye she scanned the room as the men filed in.  Ian Campbell stood out like a bull amidst rams. He wore a  white shirt  instead of the more usual saffron and  a colored  breacan of bright green and blue  plaid, the long ends draped over his left shoulder and pinned in place with a brooch.  A  leather sporran hanging from a belt covered his maleness. Even in the crowded room she was aware of him. 

With a chill she remembered their first meeting, as if even then she'd known he would be a ripple in her mood of content.  Stirring  the  pot constantly with a
spurtle
--a wooden sitck about a foot long--she glanced  his way. He looked grumpy, surly, and she heard him mention more than once to the tiny man who walked at his side that he had a horrible headache.  No doubt he'd stayed long into the night with the other men, drinking and celebrating, she thought with a frown.  While she was feeling miserable, he had been enjoying himself.  Fie on him!  On all men.  They were ever the source of a woman's lament.

But oh, how the women flocked around him, like gulls to a fishing boat, she thought sourly.   She could hear Jeanne's prattle from clear across the room as
she flirted with him. Overbold wench.  She was a perfect match for him.  Ha, he'd soon have his hands full with that one.  She convinced herself she didn't care. Aye, lucky she was not to have been betrothed to such as this Ian!

Casting him a haughty look
,  she was irritated that her snub went unnoticed. His eyes focused over the top of her head as if she were invisible. How could she  prove  how little she cared about the situation if he did not even look her way?  She was of a mind to show him.  Ha! She would ignore him too.

She let the porridge cook steadily for a half hour, stirring to watch for lumps, determined to avoid  looking at him.  Once or twice, however,  though she was  careful in her cooking duties,    her attention was diverted  to cast  a
glance at his manly presence. She nearly scorched the porridge, only emphasized to her what trouble he could be.

Breakfast was eaten standing.  Brianna  ate her oatmeal with fresh milk and salt, choosing wild berries and curds to appease her voracious appetite.  W
hen Glenna teased her about it she retorted that she needed her strength for  what was planned for the day. Her brow puckered in concentration. Today there would be further celebrating. Games. Horse racing.  Such competition  would surely make her forget her foolishness.

"Do the women weave in Edinburh?"  Jeanne's voice pierced the air.

"They weave but not as well as they work their needles. Their tapestries breath with life," Ian Campbell answered.

Brianna attuned her ears to Ian's talk of  the skills of the courtly women at stitchery and turned up her nose.  He claimed they sat on stools before the fire
, sewing all day.  Those women were addled-brained pudding heads if that's how they spent all their time. How boring they must be. Ha! She'd show him what a MacQuarie lass was made of.  She'd match him skill for skill.  So thinking she merged with the crowd as they left the great hall.

Banners flew, bagpipes played on, tents were placed haphazardly about.  There was the same enthusiasm and joviality as when appreciating a fair. A field just outside the castle's walls was used for  the popular game of shinnie
, a simple game using curved sticks and a ball.  It was a dangerous sport, one said to be the fastest ball game in the world.  To play it a man needed to possess extraordinary athletic abilities--a quick eye, ready hand and a strong arm, and be an excellent runner and wrestler as well. Brianna was not one to sit idle like the other women and watch the event.  She elbowed her way among the crowd to join in. Plucking up a stick she aligned herself with the players as a shocked Ian Campbell looked on.

The field had the appearance of a battle scene.  That she found herself on the same side as the
Campbell rogue was the only thing that marred her exhilaration at the event.  Even so, she plainly showed him how to play the game, throwing herself into the fracas.  She was pleased when at last she caught sight of a look of surprise merged with admiration on Ian Campbell's face.

"Ye fight as furiously as the Scots Army," he said
, meaning it as a compliment.  Pursing her lips, Brianna did not answer, merely turned her back on him, but she was pleased nonetheless.

Despite his aching head, Ian made a good show of it.   He couldn't let a woman  show him up.  He was quick and strong, ran with easy grace
, cutting back and forth across the pasture with his stick.  Fighting the others for the ball with a reckless ferocity, he strove to impress the red-haired MacQuarie lassie. He reminded Brianna of a fighting cock. Grudgingly she had to admire him.  Though she was  more than a match for Erskin, Malcolm and even Jamie, this Ian Campbell swung his stick as powerfully as her father wielded his sword.

"You played a good game."  Huffing and puffing, Ian tried to catch his breath.  By Saint Michael this woman was full of surprises.  Who ever would have imagined that such a lass of beauty could also possess skill and strength.  It was impossible
to ignore  her though he'd made such a vow.  She reminded him of the wild cats that roamed about in the Highlands.  Oh, that he could be the one to tame her.

"I'm thankful we were on the same side." Brianna saw no reason to withhold her praise.  "Ye played a good game too."  For the first time that morning she smiled, issuing him a challenge.  "But let's see how ye measure up with a bow."  She nodded her head towards a far area of the field where a target was being set up for the archery contest
, then sauntered off,  Ian following her.

Archers equipment--flint tipped arrows,
arm bracers to withstand the rebound of the bow strings, and bows--littered the field.  Ian choose the lightest bow he could, favoring the English method of archery which shot from the area of the chin.  He looked in astonishment as Brianna took time to choose one for herself, running her hands over the wood,  testing the tension of the cord. Surely a woman couldn't wield such a weapon, he thought. His expression told his thoughts.

"Aye, I'm skilled with a longbow," Brianna exclaimed.  "My father has taught all his daughters to shoot.  The night I was born the castle was undefended while the men were away.  That will no' happen again." Her words held a warning.
             

Again Brianna made a good account of
herself proving her skill. She hit the target squarely again and again, shooting in the Scottish manner, aiming from the chest.  There wasn't anything she couldn't do and do well it seemed.  As the morning unfolded Ian's admiration grew.