The Clan MacDougall Series (133 page)

Growing up, he had received many more thumps on his head and spankings from his mother than from his father. He had no doubt that his mother loved him. However, she was a woman who took her role as mother and wife of a clan chief very seriously.

She was convinced that she was doing God’s will in making sure her children grew up strong, independent, and moral. Rowan was certain her favorite biblical passage was “spare the rod, spoil the child” for she would oft recite it while warming his rear end with a stick, a strap, or her hand.

The thought of having to spend more than a few minutes with the woman set his teeth on edge.

Rowan had been told of his parents’ arrival late in the morning. The games would not start until the morrow so he had been on the training fields with the other MacDougall men when a runner had been sent for him. His presence in the gathering room was immediately demanded. Knowing it was a command and not a request, he instinctively knew his mother was with his father and it had been her who had sent the young boy to find him.

Andrew would have sent word to join them when he was done with his morning training session. His mother wouldn’t have cared if he were in a battle for his life, in the middle of his wedding night, or on his deathbed. Patience could not be counted as one of her virtues.

The command caught Black Richard’s attention. With his curiosity piqued by the way Rowan’s face paled when he’d received the command, Black Richard could not resist the urge to accompany Rowan to the gathering room. Black Richard had never met Enndolynn Graham but he’d heard much about her over the years.

He reckoned, as they walked toward the castle, that only two entities on this earth frightened Rowan: Satan and Enndolynn Graham. From the way Rowan muttered and cursed under his breath, his sagging shoulders, and colorless face, Black Richard supposed his friend would have preferred to be heading toward a meeting with Satan.

Covered in sweat and grime from their sparring on the field, Rowan and Black Richard walked the long hallway that led to the gathering room. As they rounded the corner, Angus’ laughter filtered out into the hallway.

Though the morning meal had been cleared away hours ago, the trestle tables were set again. Breads, cheeses, meats, fruits and ale had been spread out. Laird Andrew Graham sat at the long high table with Angus, apparently amused at something Angus had just told him.

Rowan breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his mother was not in attendance. He felt like a man given the reprieve from a death sentence. He’d live a few minutes more.

Rowan knew, unequivocally, that his father was here for more than just the festival and games. Andrew had sent a letter weeks ago, informing Rowan that the time had finally come when he would meet his betrothed again.

His mother sent her own message informing him that if he did not set a wedding date before the end of the games, she would beat him within an inch of his life. She was not pleased that he had been delaying the inevitable for three years. She would give him no more time.

Rowan weighed his options. He could flee, like a coward, head north and never be seen or heard from again. But that would be shirking his responsibilities as eldest son. His father would hunt him down like a wild animal and run him through. You did
not
break your word. You did not run and hide like a coward. And after his death, his mother would filet him like a freshly caught fish. There would be nothing left of him for the living to bury or the scavengers to feast upon.

“Rowan!”

Black Richard took note of Rowan’s clenched jaw and the tiny beads of sweat that had begun to form on his forehead. He had the look of a man heading to the gallows and it was all Black Richard could do to contain his amusement.

Rowan walked toward the table and did indeed feel like a man being led to the gallows. For that was what he thought of marriage: ’twas a death sentence. Especially when you were betrothed to a quiet, mousy, homely girl.

Andrew Graham stepped from behind the table with a broad smile and met Rowan halfway. Before Rowan could react, his father, a man built like a fortress wall and just as strong and formidable, wrapped him in a tight hug.

“’Tis good to see you, son!” Andrew’s deep voice was like a barrel rolling across a room full of logs—deep, rumbling, and a bit overwhelming.

“’Tis good to see you as well, father,” Rowan managed to speak, though it was quite difficult with his father’s strong arms wrapped around him so tightly. ’Twas also a bit difficult to breathe.

Andrew Graham pulled away, but kept his hands on his son’s shoulders. The two of them stood appraising each other, for it had been six years since they’d last laid eyes on one another. Rowan took note that his father’s dark hair now held strands of gray. There were lines on his forehead and around his still bright eyes. He’d aged, but he had aged well.

“Ye look well, father,” Rowan told him.

“And ye’ve grown into a fine man! But I kent that ye would, fer ye take after me and not yer mother.”

Rowan cringed inwardly. His mother reminded him of a berserker—sweet and quiet one moment, but let her get the scent of fear? An involuntary shudder washed over him. He’d rather fight Satan than argue with his mother. Satan could be beaten, his mother, not likely.

“Angus has been tellin’ me how well ye’ve done here, lad. It does a father’s heart good to ken his son has acquired good fightin’ skills as well as a good head fer strategy. Ye do a father proud, lad!” He slapped Rowan’s back and led him toward the table.

“I’m sure ye can guess why we’re here, this day, lad,” Andrew asked as they stood next to the table. Angus was smiling down at him from the high table, looking as though he were enjoying himself immensely. Rowan’s gut tightened and he turned back to his father.

His father was never one to beat around the bush. Rowan swallowed hard. He could feel the imaginary hangman’s noose being draped around his neck. “Aye,” he answered, at a loss for anything else intelligent to say.

“Good! The wedding will take place at Castle Áit na Síochána within a fortnight after we return from the festival and games.” Rowan thought fondly whenever the name of his birthplace was mentioned. The castle was aptly named
Place of Peace,
after Rowan’s great-grandfather settled there in the late thirteenth century. Legend had it that when Torcadall Graham and his brethren made their way out of the dark and dense forest that bordered to the north, a sense of peace came over each man, woman and child. They knew they’d found their home.

Apparently, Rowan would not be allowed to choose the date of his own death. His mind raced for a way out of the betrothal. Other than literally dying, he could not think of any.

“Rowan!”

His stomach lurched when he heard the sound of his mother’s voice calling his name.

Rowan turned to see a group of women heading toward him, his mother front and center. Enndolynn Graham looked regal and elegant, as always. Her blonde hair was plaited around her head and covered with a whisper soft veil. She wore a dress of crimson silk and he thought the color quite befitting considering she could verbally castrate him in the blink of an eye.

“Mother,” Rowan said as he walked toward her. She had the look of a very pleased woman who had just received a fine gift. Smiling, she wrapped Rowan in a warm embrace.

“Rowan,” she smiled at him. “It is good to see ye.”

“And ye as well, mother,” he said when they broke their embrace.

She offered him a very slight smile that said she knew her son was lying. “I’ve not received any letters from you in quite some time, Rowan,” she admonished him.

“Please forgive me,” Rowan said. “I have been verra busy of late.”

She eyed him up and down, quirked an eyebrow that said she didn’t appreciate his falsehood. “Too busy to send a letter to yer own mother? I think no’.” She took a step closer and leaned in to whisper to him. “I think ye be avoidin’ the inevitable. Verra unbecoming a warrior.”

His ballocks contracted and he swallowed hard. Suddenly, the thought of running like a coward didn’t seem such a bad idea. At least he could keep possession of his manhood. Cowardice had to be better than emasculation.

She gave him no time to respond. “Because ye refused to come home when summoned, we were forced to come to retrieve you. I trust yer father has informed ye that the date has been set fer yer weddin’?”

Hanging was more like it. “Aye,” he said. “He’s told me.”

“Good,” she said. Her knowing smile never left her face.

“And ye are prepared to do yer duty to yer family?” she asked, her voice dripping with false warmth and curiosity.

For a fleeting moment, Rowan thought of telling his mother than he’d been wounded in battle and had been left impotent. Knowing she’d find it neither amusing, nor important, he merely nodded his head and said, “Aye.” A promise had been made years ago and Rowan would not be allowed to worm his way out of it.

Enndolynn studied him for a brief moment before turning to face one of the women behind her. “Rowan, I am sure ye remember yer betrothed?” she said as she bowed her head and waved a hand toward the group.

His mother knew damned well he wouldn’t know Kate Carruthers if she came up and slapped him. His eyes scanned over the group. He was looking for a gangly, homely lass with red-blonde locks and dull green eyes. Most of the lasses were of the same height and average build. One was a bit on the heavy side, but comely none-the-less. It mattered not which one of these lasses was Kate Carruthers. A hanging was a hanging was a hanging.

The lasses giggled, gave a short curtsey and then slowly turned their heads toward the back of their group. Standing at the rear was a young and quite bonny lass. Surely, this could not be his betrothed? He suddenly felt quite the idiot, for he was quite certain his betrothed would still be the gangly and unbecoming lass with dull green eyes that he remembered from his youth.

But something drew him to the young woman standing so quietly at the rear of the crowd of women. He tilted his head and searched her face for recognition. There
was
something familiar about the green eyes that were staring back at him, but that was where his recognition ended. He had been fully prepared to see a taller version of the five-year-old Kate Carruthers, not the bonny lass standing before him.

Nay, the lass standing before him was quite beautiful. Her long blonde hair, with streaks of red and gold, fell in soft waves over her shoulders. A simple, whisper soft veil of ice blue fell from the back of her head. The lass wore an exquisite gown of the deepest blue that fit over her curves quite nicely. Nay, this could not be
her.

The young woman stepped forward and took Enndolynn’s offered hand.

“Kate,” Enndolynn said, her voice as smooth as silk. “I believe it has been some time since ye’ve seen Rowan.”

Kate’s smiled demurely as Enndolynn placed her hand in Rowan’s. The young woman curtsied elegantly then stood. “M’laird,” she murmured, looking nearly as frightened as Rowan felt. Rowan could feel her fingers tremble slightly as they rested in his hand.

“M’lady,” Rowan said, brushing a light kiss across her trembling fingers. He found it quite difficult to take his eyes from hers. Mayhap marriage to a bonny creature such as this would not be so bad.

“Rowan,” Enndolynn began. “Kate has been under my tutelage fer the past year now.”

Rowan felt his stomach tighten. A year with his mother? The lass had surely been to hell and back.

“I won’t hold that against her, mother,” Rowan said as he gave Kate a wink. He took note of the confusion that flashed in the girl’s bright eyes before she pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth as if to suppress a question. Mayhap not too much damage had been done. He couldn’t imagine being married to someone like his mother.

Kate’s mother had assured her that if she won Enndolynn Graham’s approval, then she would surely win Rowan’s. That had been Kate’s primary goal this past year, for she did not want to be trapped in a marriage with a man who could not respect her, or worse yet, one who hated her because she could not get along with his mother.

Enndolynn had told Kate countless times over the past year, that Rowan Graham was in fact, a mamma’s boy. There was nothing that he would not do for her, so strong was their bond and their love of one another.

Kate hadn’t been biting her tongue, holding her temper in check, and acting like a meek and mild lass for the past year to have it all cast aside now. Certain she was that if she did anything to earn Enndolynn’s disapproval, her son Rowan’s equal disapproval was sure to follow. That was the last thing she wanted.

But the tension between Rowan and his mother was palpable. It certainly did not feel like undying love and devotion between mother and son.

“Do no’ be so boorish,” Enndolynn admonished him.

Oftentimes it was best to simply ignore his mother. “M’lady,” Rowan said as he turned his back to his mother. He placed Kate’s hand on his arm and led her away from the group. “How was yer journey?”

Kate flashed a look of surprise at Rowan, and a look of uncertainty toward Enndolynn before being led away. She swallowed hard and cast another look at Enndolynn before answering. “Long and rather treacherous,” she whispered.

Rowan’s heart felt less heavy than it had only moments ago. He detected a note of humor in her answer and it brought a smile to his face. “When ye say treacherous, are ye referring to the roads ye traveled, or something far more dangerous?”

Kate blushed and focused her eyes on the floor. It would not be polite to tell him the truth, that his mother, while a kind woman in general, tended to be overbearing and strong minded. After her first few days under Enndolynn’s care, Kate had found herself praying several times a day that Enndolynn’s son would take after his father. She could not imagine being married to someone with Enndolynn’s sharp tongue or her less than friendly disposition.

Rowan chuckled and his smile broadened. “Ye have me deepest apologies lass.”

Kate furrowed her brow and glanced up at him. “Apologies?”