Highlander's Bride (Heart of the Highlander Series Book 1) (8 page)

The frightened steed rose, then snorted and reared
to its full height on its back legs, dragging Alexander dangerously close to
its flailing hooves. Twisting out of their deadly path, he yanked down
forcefully on the remainder of the reins and threw one arm over the frightened
animal's neck as it touched all four legs to the ground. Keeping the horse at
short rein and talking to it all the while, he calmed it enough that it no
longer reared, but it still pranced about in pain and fear.

Another movement caught Alexander's attention. He
looked up as Fiona ran toward him. Turning to her, he shouted against the wind.
"Fiona, give me your shawl. I need to cover Tursachan's eyes to calm him
from the lightning."

After wrapping it around his horse's head, he
quickly ran his hands over its body and legs noting a gash on one of its flanks
but otherwise no serious injuries.

He cupped his hands around his mouth as the storm
increased. Would his words be heard above the noise? "Lass, I must get
Tursachan under cover and see to his wound!" The ferocity of the storm
muffled his voice, but apparently she understood.

She nodded and quickly led them to an empty
shearing shed nearby. Together, they pulled open the heavy wooden door and ran
inside, leading the nervous stallion.

The shed, normally used to hold several sheep,
tools and two people to do the shearing each year, was barely large enough for
the horse and both of them.

Alexander led his mount into the sheep holding
pen. Then grasping the door's inner iron rung, he helped Fiona pull it closed
against the onslaught of the wind and rain. Outside, the storm still raged, but
the simple cover created a welcome haven of shelter.

Shaking off the water running down his forehead,
he raised his voice above the howling noise of the storm. "My great
thanks, lass. Are you all right?"

Seeing her nod, he walked back to his horse, took
off the saddle and looked Tursachan over more closely to assess the injury.
Other than the cut on his horse's right flank, it seemed uninjured.

He removed the shawl, wrung water from the plaid
wrap and rubbed the animal down. As he did, he talked to it in a soothing
voice. Since the horse's wound was clean, there was naught else to be done
until the rain stopped and a groom could tend the injury. He would let the
stallion rest. Eventually it would calm down enough to sleep.

After Tursachan stood quietly, with only an
occasional wild roll of its eyes in answer to a rumble of thunder, Alexander
left it and strode across the shed. He'd best see how Fiona was faring.
Reaching the area where he'd seen her standing moments earlier, he froze in
stunned surprise.

The lass stood with her back to him, her only
clothing, a small sheepskin wrapped about her, draped by her long black hair.
Bending over a large mound of straw, she spread out her tunic and skirt, then
turned to face him as he approached.

His surprise turned to shock as she ran her hands
from her barely concealed breasts slowly down the length of sheepskin that
ended mid way down her thighs.

The very air between them seemed to crackle with
anticipation. He stared at her, momentarily taken aback by the expression on
her face. Her gaze seemed to burn with an inner fire even the deluge outside
couldn't quench.

"Faith, Alexander, ye look as hungry as a mon
who's had naught to eat for a long time." She ran her tongue over her lips
and stood where she was.

"God's teeth! What do you think you're doing,
lass?" he shouted. Or tried to. His voice came out more like a husky
growl.

She frowned slightly as she held the sheepskin to
her with one hand and rested the other on her hip. "Och, and would ye
rather I stay the night in sodden clothes and catch me death? The storm doesna
look to be lessening and these woolly things are dry and warmin'. Sure and with
all that fine trainin' ye've had, ye know the danger of staying wet and cold
all night."

By the saints, he'd best cool the fiery passion
beginning to consume him. And quickly. Alexander strode over to the door of the
shed and wrenched it open. A downpour of rain hit him, soaking him to the skin.

Fiona's voice called out from behind him.
"And now look what ye've done. The wee bit of ye that was near dry is
sodden. Close the door and come out of those wet clothes so ye can get yerself
dry. If ye wish to have this woolly piece, ye may use it, but 'tis the only one
large enough to cover me."

"No! Keep yourself covered. I'll stay as I
am. I won't have you sharing your meager wrap. I've known far worse than to be
cold and wet. It'll do me no great harm." No doubt he would dry quickly
from the heat she sparked in him. His problem was not the wet or the cold, but
rather the lust she had set to burning.

She shook her head and pointed at his clothes.
"Ye'll catch yer death standin' there like that. Dinna be dour headed.
I'll turn my back to ye." She walked to an empty space in the shed and
faced away from him.

Alexander's jaw tightened. The lass was right. He
shouldn't be thinking aught else. He'd always thought of her as a little sister
until now. Curse him. Yanking off his sword belt, he peeled off his soaked
clothing and boots. Picking up handfuls of loose wool, he began to rub himself
dry while wishing his passion would soon cool. 

Then she screamed.

Throwing the wool to the ground and grabbing up
his sword, he rushed over to her. "Fiona! What is amiss?"

"'Tis a wild creature in yon corner."
She pointed to the corner of the shed, then clutched her meager covering with
one hand and grasped his arm with the other. Just then, a wet and harried
badger scurried across the floor and ran under a mound of straw several feet
from them.

Fiona squealed and threw herself at Alexander,
dropping her slight covering in the process, and pressed herself against his
hard, naked body.

By God, 'twas more than any man could refuse. He
thrust his sword away, hauled her closer and pushed her down into the straw
beneath him. His hands entangled in her long black hair.

As he bent his head toward her, she whispered,
"I knew ye wouldna marry that lowland wench. 'Tis always been me fer ye."

He froze. Her words slashed his lust to ribbons,
as the storm had been unable to do. "God's blood, Fiona, what was I
thinking? Saints curse me for a weak man! Lass, dress yourself, for I will not
do this again." Hastily, he stepped away from her and walked over to his
discarded clothing.

"What? Ye… ye were pleased enough to bed me
before! Is it because ye're betrothed to a lady of rank that ye now toss me
aside? Ye didna even know her before today. Ye have always loved me!"

"Fiona, I care about you enough to stop. I
won't shame you again."

She snatched up her tunic and skirt and threw them
over herself quickly. "What do I care about shame? Aught I cared about is
gone."

God, what had he done? He must calm her. Make her
understand. He reached toward her.

 She lashed out at him. "No! Dinna touch me
e'er again. I curse ye, Alexander MacGregor!" With a strength born of
anger, she ran across the shed, pushed the door open and fled into the storm.

Alexander grabbed his wet leather breeks and
pulled them on as quickly as the clinging leather would allow. Leaving his
shirt and boots lying in the straw, he strapped his sword to his side and ran
after her, calling as he ran. Whether she couldn't hear over the noise of the
storm, or refused to speak to him, he didn't know.

As he neared Fiona, she ran inside her hut and
slammed the entrance shut, barring it against him. He pounded on the door and
called to her for several minutes, but she didn't respond. Finally, Alexander
turned away, his shame eating at him. Despite the rain lashing at his bare
chest, he refused to hurry back to the shed. It would only remind him of his
dishonor.

Once there, he yanked the door closed with a
mighty vengeance, but the resounding thud of the wood did naught to drive away
his remorse. Nearby, his shirt, hose and boots lay discarded on the straw,
proclaiming his guilt.

Damn, but he was a bloody fool. Not only had he
shamed a frightened lass, but his family and betrothed as well.

He tugged on his wet, clammy shirt and hose, then
forced his feet into his soaked boots as the storm continued to pound an angry
rhythm on the roof of the shed. Between his guilt and the deafening noise, he
knew he'd get little sleep. Frowning, he lay down in the straw next to his
horse to await the morning.

**

A golden dawn rose with the end of the tempest. The
high winds during the night had chased all the clouds from the area, leaving
the sky a clear vibrant blue. The rain-washed air smelled clean and fresh.

Alexander walked Tursachan out of the shed and
glanced at Elsa's cottage, its door still firmly closed against him. He
grimaced, kicked at a small branch lying in his path and slowly led his horse
back toward the castle.

A young lad ran past, chasing a wayward goat
toward an empty pen. Ahead, a clanswoman swept mud and fallen thatch from the
doorway of her croft. She looked up and called out, "Good morrow, m'lord.
Did ye e'er see such a fierce storm afore?"

Alexander's forehead creased in a frown. The
various damage he'd seen from the previous night's thunderstorm was naught
compared to the harm he'd done to his honor and Fiona's pride. He scanned the
outside of the dwelling in front of him. "Good morrow, mistress. Did your
home suffer much damage? I will send men from the castle to aid in the repairs
if you need them." 

The woman shook her head. "Nay, thank ye,
m'lord. My mon can do aught 'tis needed. But from the looks of it, yer fine
horse may need special care. Elsa has many healing potions. If ye wish, I will
fetch her fer ye."

"No, thank you. I will see to it
myself."

Nodding, the woman resumed her sweeping and didn't
look up again as he passed by.

The dirt track was now a muddy quagmire sporting
evidence of people and animals already having trudged through it. Two deep ruts
were hollowed out where a cart had mired in the bog and several bent and broken
branches lay in a heap where they'd been used to help roll it free.

Halfway back to the keep, Tursachan stumbled in a
water-filled hole in the muddy road. The stallion snorted and tossed its head
about, flinging its pitch-black mane in the air. The long inky mass billowed
out over Alexander's arm just as Fiona's dark hair had done the night before.

God, he was a damned fool. Fiona's fright had
brought on her strange behavior. Nothing more. How could he have reacted so?
She'd always been like a wee sister to him. Aye, until the morn he'd awoke with
her in his bed. Damn him. Naught would be the same between them again. What
kind of knave bedded an innocent lass then betrothed himself to another? He looked
at the clan crest carved into the ring he wore and clenched his fist. What kind
of knave? One devoid of all honor.

Chapter Five

Katherine awoke after a restless night. The storm
hadn't frightened her. Rather, it left her with a sense of foreboding that hung
about her like a heavy cloak. She wrapped her arms around her to ward off the
early morning chill and walked to the window.

 Looking to the sky, she saw no evidence of the
devastating storm of the night before, but rubble was strewn across the land.
Dozens of broken limbs lay about. Large muddy puddles dotted the ground.
Portions of the overgrown flower garden were laid flat by the wind and rain. It
could be lovely again if someone were to tend to it with care. 'Twas a shame to
let such a thing of beauty lie forgotten and unappreciated.

Soon she'd be married. Would her husband
appreciate her and grow fond of her? Or would he leave her care, like the
garden, to the castle servants and seek his interests elsewhere? He had
certainly shown her little indication he wished to wed her.

She had accepted the idea of their marriage. Truth
be told, she'd been given no other choice. Possibly all would be well in time.
Alexander displayed a caring and pleasant personality with others. Indeed, he
was friendly with everyone else. A frown touched her lips at the memory of
their betrothal. Surely he could show her as much courtesy. Katherine sighed.
Would they ever learn to abide each other?

Perhaps she shouldn't have been so quick to anger
last night. No. He must learn she wouldn't tolerate being treated with
disrespect. She might never know his fondness, but neither would she let him
mistreat her.

Katherine stared at the garden again. Servants had
begun to gather scattered limbs and haul them out of the garden. Two young boys
righted the overturned sundial. They propped a rock under its wobbly base to
keep it from falling over again. The taller lad tossed a stone in a large
puddle, splashing his friend's legs with dirty water. Grinning, the boys
wrestled together, rolling on the ground until they were covered with mud.
Slipping and sliding in the mire, they threw great handfuls of mud and pounded
each other good-naturedly on the back before they chased each other out of
sight.

The lads' carefree antics coaxed a smile from her
lips. As far back as she could remember, she'd lived, worked and played
alongside the other children near her home. Memories of frolicking with her
childhood friends flitted through her mind. There had been the time the
fletcher's daughter and she had gotten into his supply of feathers. They'd
scattered them all over the shop, pretending it was snowing. She'd learned an
important lesson that day.

When the fletcher found the disaster in his shop,
he'd blamed only his daughter for it, not aware of Katherine's part in the
deed. But her nurse had known her better. She'd made her face the irate man
with an apology. Sweet Mary, it had taken all afternoon to clean up those
feathers.

Until then, whenever she had been given chores to
do, she'd done them merely to earn the praise of her parents. So, when the
arduous task was completed, she'd gone to the old woman, whom she thought of
more as a friend than her nurse, expecting warm approval and affection. How
wrong she'd been.

She could still remember her words. "Hmph.
And do ye think the fletcher was well pleased with yer misdeeds,
mistress?"

"No, but I cleaned aught up just as before.
'Tis nary a feather or arrow shaft out of place now. You should be proud of me
putting it to rights."

"Oh, ye think so, do ye? And what of the
fletcher who has naught to show for a day of work gone and a family to feed? Do
ye no think it matters, since ye set things back as they were? I will no be
praisin' ye fer yer mischief nor fer causing a good mon to lose a day's wages.
Ye must learn to work as we all do, because it needs to be done, no for empty
flattery."

The words echoed in Katherine's mind. She chewed
worriedly on her bottom lip and turned away from the window. One thing was
certain. Alexander and she had work to do. Perhaps, with effort, they could
start over again and repair their ill feelings. Just as she had repaired the
damage she'd done to the fletcher's shop so long ago. Soon the wedding ceremony
and feast would thrust them together in front of a large and watchful audience.
If she hoped to put things right before then, she'd best act now.

And what better way was there to gain a man's
approval than to take care in her appearance and slather him with attention? A
slow smile lit her face. Walking to the corridor, she called for hot water to
be brought to her chamber.

After her bath, she dressed in a lilac silk gown
with a deeper shade surcoat embroidered with gold stitching along the hem. She
left her hair unbound except for two small braids twisted away from the sides
of her face and bound together with violet ribbons at the back of her head.

Finally, she placed a girdle of golden chain, set
with amethyst stones, about her hips. Smiling, she took a last look at her
image in a mirror, and headed for the great hall.

 Sir William looked up from the doorway as she
approached. "Ah, good morrow, my lady. You are a lovely sight after so
stormy a night. May I escort you to the table to break your fast?"

"No, thank you." She glanced across the
large room. Her betrothed was nowhere in sight. "I had hoped to find Sir
Alexander here. Do you know where I might seek him?"

William shook his head. "I haven't seen him
since he escorted you to your chambers after the betrothal feast last night. He
oft rides early each morn. You might find him at the stable within the inner
bailey. I'd be pleased to escort you there."

"Thank you, but I don't wish to delay your
meal. I'll go alone." Reaching the keep's front steps, Katherine looked at
the mud-covered ground. She'd make a poor impression with mire trailing from
her skirts. Perhaps she should wait. Aye, and the longer she waited, the harder
the task would be. Sighing, she gathered her gown and lifted it several inches.
With luck, she wouldn't drag it through the murky puddles.

The damage from the storm was more evident here
than in the garden. Stacks of wheat, which had been piled beside a shed, lay
crushed and scattered. A small pen for holding livestock stood broken apart and
empty. Its animals obviously escaped.

Several peasant folk moved about, repairing
thatched roofs. Some righted creels and barrels turned over by the wind and
rain. Others gathered sheep and herded them back toward mended pens.

Chickens and geese searched for grain among the
ooze of the courtyard. A shaggy mongrel shook himself, in an attempt to free
his fur of layers of mud. It earned a cuff on the ear by a nearby peasant who
was less than pleased to be the recipient of its efforts.

Katherine kept a wide distance from the dog and
continued toward the stable. Just as she neared it, Alexander walked into view.
But, faith, what a sight he was. Bits of straw clung to his hair and clothing.
Dirty and disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes, he led his stallion
toward the stable.

She gasped and ran to him, mindless of her
clothing. "My lord! Are you well? Were you caught out in the storm last
night?" Spying a tartan shawl bound about his steed's flank, she asked,
"What happened to your horse?"

As she reached out toward it, Alexander jerked the
stallion back from her touch. "Stay back, lass. Tursachan's injury makes
him more temperamental than usual."

Startled, she looked back at Alexander. From his
appearance, it seemed he'd indeed been out in the tempest. And from the woman's
brightly colored shawl wrapped around his horse's leg, he hadn't been alone.
Had he ventured into the storm to aid someone in need?

A loud bark alerted her in time to step aside as
the muddy dog charged up. The injured stallion thrashed out with its front
hooves.

Alexander pulled back on the horse's bridle.
"Watch out, you fool dog." Gruffly, he shooed it away, then patted
his steed's neck, calming it. Silently, he frowned at the ground.

Katherine watched his expression harden, as if
deep in thought. Why did he not answer her? What could be so difficult about
his explanation?

He glanced at her and then looked away.
"After I escorted you to your chamber, I rode out and was caught by the
storm. I went to see an old woman who was once nurse to my mother and a friend
to me in my childhood." He rubbed his hand down the stallion's neck, still
avoiding her gaze. "The woman lives with her granddaughter in a crofter's
hut not far from here. As I was about to leave, the storm broke and Tursachan
was injured."

He shrugged and bits of straw sifted down from his
clothing. "The old woman's granddaughter showed me a shed where I could
put my horse for the night and gave me her shawl to bind its injury.  I… uh,
stayed in the shed until the storm stopped this morn and came back, as you see
now."

Katherine's mouth dropped open. She quickly
composed herself. "But 'twas such a fierce storm. It must have been
terrible staying in that shed all night. Couldn't you have left your horse
there and taken shelter with these friends of yours? I can't believe they'd
rather have you stay in a shed than share their hearth."

"Dinna fash yourself, lass. I'm no wee bairn
to be coddled."

"But you shouldn't have had to sleep in a
shed. Who are these great friends of yours? I cannot believe they wouldn't
offer you sanctuary from the storm. 'Twould seem they have much to learn about
Highland hospitality."

"Hold your tongue, woman! I will not stand
here and be skirled at. They are good folk and I won't have you harping at
them. Leave off. I must take my horse to be tended." Glowering, he led his
mount away, leaving her stunned and gaping in the courtyard.

 A peasant's loud snicker broke the temporary
silence. Katherine whirled around and glared at him. The man quickly ducked
into a nearby shed. Ooh, that Alexander MacGregor! How dare he? She'd only been
concerned for his comfort. And he'd turned on her as if she were a wayward
servant who'd forgotten her station. Well, he'd soon find out he shouldn't have
spoken so.

Snatching at her skirts, she looked about in angry
frustration. She should have known better than to expect common courtesy from
such a pompous Highlander. Oh, but he was going to feel the bite of her tongue.
Skirled at? He didn't know the meaning of the word. But he would.

Katherine headed in the general direction of the
stable, detouring several times to avoid large puddles of muddy water. When she
got there, he was nowhere in sight. She released her hold on her skirts and
fisted her hands to her sides. Which way did he go? By the time she found her
way around the huge stable she would be a sight to be sure. No matter. What she
planned to tell the high and mighty MacGregor needed no pretty wrapping.

Determined to have her say, she continued through
the large stable. Hearing voices, she turned in their direction.

"… Aye, and did ye see whose shawl Alexander
had wrapped about his horse's flanks? Here I was, mindin' how he wouldna fancy
a night's sleep in a cold wet shed. An' then I think to meself, hell, 'twould
be nay sleepin' done with the likes of Fiona to keep him company." The man
chuckled. "Likely 'twas more thrashin' about in the shed than out of it.
Aye, that wench knows well how to please a mon and has been greatly prized by
the Laird's son fer a long time. Why, she's been raisin' her skirts fer—"

As Katherine drew closer, she stepped on a stick
lying on the stable floor, snapping it in two.

"Hold yer gab, fool! Someone comes." Two
grooms glanced at her and then quickly looked away, unease clearly written
across their faces. The large black stallion beside them snorted, and pawed the
ground.

Katherine looked from the stallion to the suddenly
silent men. "This is Sir Alexander's horse. Whose shawl did I hear you say
was on it?"

The men exchanged a worried look, hastily pulled
off their caps and looked at their feet.

"Speak up!"

The older man glanced about nervously and fidgeted
with his cap. "If ye please, m'lady, 'twas no more than idle clishmaclaver
we spoke and nary a word meant to be heard. Hobb and me meant no harm."

"What is your name?"

"Sim, m'lady."

"Well, Sim, if 'tis only gossip, as you say,
then you have naught to fear in telling me. Or would you prefer I ask Sir
Alexander?"

The groom's mouth dropped open and his eyes grew
wide, as if truly frightened of rousing his master's anger. "Saints no,
m'lady! I beg yer kind pardon. The lass's name, well, it be Fiona. Fiona
Duggin. She lives with Elsa in a croft beyond the keep." He darted a quick
glance at the man beside him, then back at her. "Truly, we meant nay
disrespect. Old Elsa and her granddaughter are both well liked by the laird's
family."

So it seemed.  "Sim, I mean you and Hobb no
harm. In truth, such a good friend to Sir Alexander should be thanked for the
kind use of her shawl and have it returned to her. Give it to me. I will take
it to this Fiona, myself, with my thanks, for my betrothed."

"Nay! Ye needna bother yerself m'lady. Hobb
will see to it fer ye."

"No, Sim. I shall take care of this
myself." Katherine glared at the man and held her hand out for the shawl.

Sim slowly passed it over to her.

She acknowledged it with a grim nod, turned, and
left the stable. Fuming with anger, she walked rapidly toward the keep's outer
gates. Her dress dragged in the mud, but what did it matter? Her attempts to
look attractive for Alexander had turned into a sodden joke. Aye, for which
she'd been played the fool.

It was obvious now. He cared nothing for marriage
to her. Why, he must have been visiting his lover when she and her family
arrived! That was why he'd not been there to meet her. She clutched the plaid
shawl tightly in her fist. Her swift steps slapped her muddy skirts about as
she stomped angrily through the bailey.