Highlander's Bride (Heart of the Highlander Series Book 1) (4 page)

Gillian chewed her lip for a moment and twisted
her hands. "The Laird and his sons usually dine at the hour of six. But,
since the laird's son, Sir Alexander, is uh… training, it may be later."

The servant looked down at the floor, curtsied,
and walked to the door. Pulling it open, she added, "Ye have time to rest,
m'lady. I will return later to help ye dress."

After the door closed behind the maid, Katherine
looked out at the overgrown garden. It no longer appealed to her. Now the
garden's quiet emptiness only reminded her of her own predicament. Perhaps the
hot bath would help soothe her jangled nerves.

It seemed the laird's son was in no hurry to meet
her. Perhaps the idea of the hasty marriage ill suited him as well. But then,
he was a man. He had a choice. It wasn't right that her future was being taken
from her control. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Some
aloof Highland stranger of a husband was no one she needed or desired, and she
would prove it.

Clenching her fists, she walked over to the
waiting tub. Then, dropping her stained travel clothes to the floor, she
stepped into the warm water. The fragrance of heather and roses wafted toward
her as she lay back and closed her eyes. She stretched out and breathed deeply.
Perhaps the water would soothe her mind as well as her tired body. But to do
that, it would take a long soak indeed.

Katherine opened her eyes with a yawn. She hadn't
meant to doze off, but the warmth of the water had been very soothing. Now the
water was much cooler. She'd best finish her bath quickly before the water
turned truly cold. Lathering herself with the heather scented soap, she watched
as the soapy water slid over the lower portion of her breasts, but didn't cover
them completely. Her movements caused the rose petals to cling and bob free of
her skin like small butterflies floating on air. It was a shame she could not
float away so easily.

What would she do if she couldn't convince her
parents and the MacGregors to release her from this unwanted marriage? She knew
naught of the man she was betrothed to or what he'd been told of her. Perhaps
he would side with her against it. No, Da said 'twas already settled and agreed
upon.

Heaving a sigh, she swished her hands impatiently,
watching the soapsuds spread out and dissolve, clouding the water.

What would this mysterious Alexander think of her?
Da often called her and her mother his two beautiful angels, but she knew it
was his love guiding his words. She was taller, not tiny and
petite
like
her mother and didn't have her curly brown hair or lovely dark eyes.

Katherine remembered asking once, as a small
child, why she was fair-haired and her eyes blue instead of brown. Her mother's
worried expression and words had puzzled her.

"God gives everyone different appearances and
personalities. You must not let yours keep you from being loving and
kind."

Katherine shook her head and frowned. Wishing the
bath could wash away her troubles; she soaped her face and vigorously scrubbed
off the dust from the journey.

**

Alexander hacked at the quintain with his
broadsword until he was covered in sweat and dirt plowed up by his movements in
the tiltyard. Dust shifted and flew about, further coating him in a thick layer
of grime.

He paused for a moment, pushed damp hair out of
his eyes and drew a deep breath before he continued. Then, lifting his sword in
a fast arc, he struck the padded arms of his wooden opponent. He lunged again
and again, his stride perfectly synchronized with his sword arm.

His jaw clenched as he thought of his father's
words. Was this unknown lass such a shrew her sire could find no man willing to
take her? And what of Fiona? Even if she had not borne him a child, she was his
responsibility for taking her virginity. She was no common whore.

'Twas a shame this betrothal could not be decided
by a contest of battle. At least then his strength could speak for him. He
wanted no lying cuckolding wench or shrewish wife clinging and nay saying
everything he did. Alexander shoved the heavy quintain to start its movement
once again.  He quickly dipped as its bulky arm passed over him, then jumped up
and dealt it a heavy blow. There. Take that. Aye, a contest of strength would
be much more to his liking.

Again and again, he hit the target. The impact
vibrated through his arms. Once, as it spun around, the massive wooden enemy
struck him a glancing blow. He stumbled and went down on one knee. As the
quintain turned, its long arms whistling over his head, he regained his
balance.

Focusing the power of both his arms, he propelled
his sword through the air with the force of a catapult and hit the quintain a
deadly blow. The structure jerked to a halt. Its right arm snapped with a loud
crack and fell to the dirt, lying immobile and vanquished.

Alexander bent over and rested his left hand on
his thigh as he fought to draw air into his burning lungs. He looked at the
splintered wooden opponent and nodded. Aye, his future would be better served
by a trial of combat, not lifeless words.

He stood there for another moment before he
relaxed his grip on his sword and sighed in silent resignation. Returning to
the keep, he slowly climbed the back stairs and continued on toward his
chamber.

"Och, but you reek, brother," William
said as he took a step back from Alexander as they met in the hallway.
"That is you, under all that muck, is it not, Alex? Covered with dirt and
smelling the way you do, none would know you for other than the pig sty
boy."

"If you're of a mind to cast insults, little
brother, I will be happy to prove my merit against you now on the field."

William grinned. "Nay. I wager your stench
alone would best me before ever we crossed blades." He shrugged
good-naturedly. "I merely came to tell you the Gordons have arrived. You
had best bathe before dinner so your bride can be sure whom she is getting. Did
I not know you so well, I wouldn't recognize you."

"You are welcome to stand in my stead if you
wish."

"Again, I must decline, although I have heard
tell the Gordon lass is a sight to behold. In what way, though, I have yet to
determine." Laughing, William slapped Alexander on the back, raising a
cloud of dust, which he waved away as he walked off.

Muttering on the questionable necessity of
siblings, Alexander continued down the corridor. When he entered his room and
saw his best kilt and velvet doublet laid out on the bed, he tossed his sword
to the floor. "By the saints, I will not be dressed for show and led about
by the nose like one of our prize bulls! I may have no choice but to wed this
mystery wench, but I will dress as I choose!" He strode to the far side of
the room, yanked open a large chest and quickly switched the clothes for a
simple linen shirt, leather breeks and jerkin.

A sudden idea ran through his mind. Perhaps there
was a way to obey his father's command yet still remain master of his own life.
Aye, he would not be made a slave to some deceiving wench who would cuckold him
as Beatrice had done.

Alexander walked across the room and  glanced in
the passageway for a servant. He needed hot water for a bath. A familiar young
woman's voice drifted back from further down the hall.

"Ye have time to rest, m'lady. I will return
later to help ye dress."

Who was Gillian talking to? He frowned and clamped
his hand tightly around the door's handle as realization dawned on him. So, the
woman was already demanding Gillian do her bidding. But it sounded as if
Gillian's voice came from his mother's chamber. Surely they had not put the
woman there. It had always been kept empty. Till now. Damn. She had started
taking over already. No doubt she was so accustomed to being pampered and
fawned over, his father felt compelled to let her use the room.

Disgusted, Alexander turned and walked over to the
fireplace in his chamber, leaned against the stone mantle and stared into the
flames. No doubt the wench thought to have everyone follow her about like
obedient pups. Why, she probably meant to laze about all day primping like any
other scheming court beauty. Or perhaps she needed the time to attempt to make
herself somewhat presentable. What did this mystery bride look like? Not that
it made any difference to him.

He bent, picked up a piece of kindling and snapped
it in two between his fingers. Glaring at the flames, he tossed the broken
pieces of twig into the fire. The blaze greedily consumed the meager offering
as he ran his hand absently through his tangled, dirty hair. The grime and
sweat from his exertions on the practice field tickled as they dried on his
skin. He turned his hands over, looked at the caked residue of his labors, and
shrugged.

Why should he have to wait and wonder? If he
couldn't change his fate, at least he could find out what he was to be saddled
with before he met her in front of everyone in the great hall. Determined, he
pushed away from the mantle. Best to get it over with now.

The long passageway shrank quickly as his sure
strides covered the distance to the intruder's chamber. He knocked on the door.

A woman's muffled voice answered. "Yes,
Gillian?"

He thrust the door open and stepped inside. Where
was she? He expected her to be lounging in the window alcove or on the lavish
bed. Hearing a startled gasp and splash of water, he turned in the direction of
the noise.  

God's teeth, he should have thought of that. He
had not meant to catch her at her bath. No honorable man would stay to meet her
this way.  He took a step back. Aye, he would leave. As soon as he saw her
face.

The wench was at a definite disadvantage. Not only
was she sitting, nude, in the tub in front of him, but also her face was
covered with lather. The soapy bubbles began to run into her eyes, making her
squint.

Her voice rose to a sharp screech. "What are
you doing in here? I thought you were Gillian. Get out!" She blinked and
rubbed her eyes trying to clear them of the stinging soap. "Ooh, where's
my towel?" She felt around the tub, blindly, and gasped in apparent pain
and irritation.

Alexander stood rooted to the spot. His fascinated
gaze did not allow him to move, either to leave or to advance on the woman who
sat so exposed and vulnerable. Och, he would see a lot more than her face if he
didn't leave immediately. As he turned toward the doorway, he heard the pain
and exasperation in her voice.

"Ow. Oh where is that blessed towel? My eyes
are on fire."

Remorse stabbed him as he looked over his shoulder
and watched the woman squirm. Quickly walking over to the tub, he picked up the
towel and silently placed it in her hand.

Her voice came out in a squeak. "Huh?"
She clutched the towel to her chest, her eyes still closed tight to avoid the
lather. "Get out!"

The soapy water matched the milky color of her
shoulders and lower still, to the pure white mounds of her large breasts barely
submerged in the tub. Even wet, her long hair was dark gold. He couldn't help
but wonder about the rest of her hidden by the soapy bath water.

A spark of lust kindled as he stood over the
distressed beauty, watching her wipe her face with one corner of the towel
while struggling to keep her nakedness hidden. His dirty, sweat soaked breeks
tightened as he grew hard. Damn, this wasn't what he meant to happen. He
hesitated for a moment longer before he realized the young woman had removed
most of the soap from her face. She was squinting up at him between swipes of
her towel.

By the saints, if he didn't leave now, she'd feed
his head to him at their betrothal dinner. And rightly so. With luck, maybe she
wouldn't recognize him if he escaped before her vision returned.

He strode quickly to the doorway and hurried from
the room, slowing just long enough to close the door behind him. Retreating to
his chamber, his thoughts warred with his emotions. What a fool he was. He
could have stayed there. She was soon to be his wife anyway. No man wished to
be surprised with his wife's looks at his wedding.

No. 'Twas wrong to leer at her. He would see her
soon enough. Hopefully dry and without the thick coating of soap, the lass
would be pleasing to look upon. If the saints were with him, and she did not
remember his face, perhaps she would show him a friendly nature as well.

Alexander called for a hot bath and considered his
dilemma as he scrubbed away the crusted layer of dirt and sweat. Would that he
were two men; he could fulfill the MacGregor obligation to the Gordon wench and
honor his responsibility to Fiona. He snorted in derision as he stepped from
the tub. Aye, and if he could do that, better to turn back time and avoid both situations
entirely.

While shaving, he made his decision. There was
naught else to be done. When servants came to take away the wooden tub, he sent
for his head man-at-arms. Heavy footsteps drew his attention. "Ah,
Malcolm, come in. I wish for you to leave immediately and ride to the estate of
my good friend, Laird Drummond, with a message. You are to tell him I have need
of his attendance at my wedding in five days time. If he asks to delay, remind
him of a certain night we well spent with some tavern wenches in Glasgow last
year, unbeknownst by his saintly mother. This is what you are to request him do
when he reaches the castle."

He bent and mumbled instructions, ignoring the
man's look of astonishment.

"But, Alexander, surely this can wait until
after the wedding feast and first night."

"By all that's holy, Malcolm, I didn't give
you leave to decide what I do or when I do it. Gather what supplies you need
and leave at once, before I forget what a loyal friend you've been."

Frowning, the man-at-arms muttered, "Aye,
m'laird," and turned to leave.

Alexander clapped the older man on the back.
"Och, old friend, don't look so disheartened. Everything will be set right
in time. I vow it." He clasped Malcolm's arm in friendship before he left.