The Highlander's Accidental Bride (7 page)

From her seat at the window, Mary’s thoughts were a hundred desolate miles away. She almost missed the faint squeak of the bedroom door as it opened and closed. Expecting either Ina or Kirsty, she was startled to see a stranger enter. Though she’d been at Scott Castle for more than three weeks, she’d made no close friends amongst the wives and daughters who lived within its walls. They were unfailingly polite to her, though obviously leery of ‘The Barde’s daughter,’ as she’d heard herself called more than once.

The castle servants seldom had reason to speak to her, since Ina still maintained her position of authority as castle chatelaine. Intent on her desire to leave Scott Castle, Mary saw little need to take Lady Scott’s rightful place in the daily life of the clan’s people. And the lack of friends was her forfeit.

So it was with surprise Mary watched the tall, dark-haired beauty enter the room.

“Good morning, milady!”

“Good morning. Who are you?”

“My name is Isobel. Yer maid, Kirsty, isnae feeling well this day, so I am here to help.” The woman stopped beside Mary and gazed out the window.

“I used to live here,” she murmured in a voice so soft Mary wasn’t at first sure if the woman spoke to her or not. Isobel glanced at her, giving her a crooked smile. “I meant in the castle. But I married my husband, Peadrus, a few weeks ago and moved to his home just outside the village. I came in this morning to visit a friend, discovered Kirsty wasnae well, so here I am to help.”

Somewhat overwhelmed by the woman’s airy manner, Mary was unsure which statement to reply to first. She smiled bravely. After weeks of near-solitude, she supposed a new friend might be a nice change.

Isobel turned from the window, her long, dark hair sliding across her shoulders. She placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. “So, let’s get ye dressed.” She crossed the room to a row of pegs on the wall where Mary’s dresses hung. “What would milady like to wear today?”

Gathering her robe around her, Mary slid from her seat and padded on bare feet in the other woman’s wake. “It doesn’t matter. They’re much the same,” she said with an apologetic note to her voice.

Isobel pulled a gown from its peg and held it up. “Hmm. `Tis well made.” Her shrug expressed little hope for the garment’s other attributes as she held it against Mary. “But the color simply does nothing for ye.”

Taken aback by the woman’s condescending attitude, Mary gave Isobel a quelling glare she’d seen Miriam use on more than one occasion. Isobel flushed at the silent reprimand, her lips thinning in an offended line.

Instantly contrite, Mary amended, “You have a lovely gown.” Aiming to soothe any hurt she’d caused, she tilted her head in a more friendly gesture. “What would you suggest?”

Isobel’s response was stiff and formal. “I am sorry, Lady Scott. I dinnae mean to overstep my bounds.”

Mary gave her a faint smile. “In view of my rather plain gowns, perhaps it was for the best.”

For a moment Mary thought the woman would refuse her overture. Suddenly, Isobel flashed a conspiring smile and motioned for Mary to remove her night shift, waving the plain, dark brown dress before her to hurry her along.

“Here. Put this on for now. We’re going to the wardroom!”

“Milady would like fabric for a new dress,” Isobel announced. Ina cast a dubious glance at Mary’s serviceable gown.

Mary was sure her own surprise at Isobel’s words showed on her face. “Oh, but. . .”

Ina shook her head. “I’ll let the two of ye in the wardroom, but I’ve no time for the sewing, myself. Agnes will do a fine job, as will ye, Isobel.” Ina tossed the dark-haired woman a sharp look as she gathered her skirts and began climbing the stairs.

Mary followed the two women to the room where the clothing items were stored. Unlocking the door with one of the many keys hanging from her girdle, Ina pushed the heavy wood panel open. Mary’s eyes watered, her senses instantly overwhelmed with the pungent smell of dyes. They entered the room, past the folded linen and coarse wools and the piles of cured leather, to a series of large chests arranged against the far wall.

With another, smaller key, Ina unlocked each chest and flung open the lids to reveal costly velvets, shimmering silks and glowing satins in a dazzling rainbow of colors. Another chest contained furs of every kind, and the final chest overflowed with both sewing and embroidery threads and other adornments in a surprising array of hues.

“Oh, my.” Even helping Miriam prepare for visits to neighboring castles or to attend the king, she’d never had access to such finery. She ran a finger lightly across the velvets in the chest nearest her, feeling the deep nap of the cloth. Turning to the chest containing the rich furs, she plunged one hand within the luxurious depths. Her fingers sank into the silken pelts and she marveled at their obvious quality.

Ina smiled. “Almost makes ye wish for cooler weather, doesn’t it, milady? But these are more appropriate for now.”

Reluctantly, Mary turned from the furs as the other women perused the silks and soft linens. Ina reached inside the chest and pulled out an armful of fabric, setting it on the top of a nearby table. She placed another stack next to the first.

Mary stared at the lavish display, all of which was meant for her, and suddenly realized what she was about to do. The thought of being clothed in the costly fabrics was exhilarating, a privilege easily belonging to Lady Scott. But she was not Lady Scott.
Not really. Or at least not for much longer.

She watched with growing dismay as the other two women rifled quickly through the piles of fabrics, disregarding some, pulling others out and placing them aside in an ever-growing pile.

“Wait!” She raised her hands to halt their work. Both women turned to her with question in their eyes.

“Yes, milady?”

Mary hesitated. There simply was no way to explain to Isobel or Ina she was an imposter and would not need the sumptuous clothing once she became plain ‘Mary Marsh’ again. As much as she counted on being released from her marriage any day now, she couldn’t bring herself to expose Eaden and the horrible mistake he’d made. She wracked her brain for a way to explain her sudden change of heart.

Finally, she gestured toward the trunks. “This is all so grand.” She steeled her heart against the shimmering silks within reach. “I’m sure it would be more practical to use durable fabric in serviceable colors.” There. At least the clothing could be given to someone else once she left.

Isobel tossed her head. “Ye are wearing
serviceable
,” she reminded Mary. “‘Tis why we came here.”

“But, I shouldn’t . . .”

Isobel walked to another pile of fabric and pulled out a silk the soft color of moss. She held it beneath Mary’s chin and nodded with satisfaction.

“The color matches yer eyes, milady.” Isobel carried the fabric with her to the chest of threads, running an expert hand over the wooden spools until she found what she wanted.

“There! A cream underskirt, face the sleeves with the gold fabric over there. Use this gold thread for embroidery at the neck and sleeves. Scatter a few stones—topaz would be nice, I should think.”

“No!” Mary cried in frustration. “I need nothing so grand.”

Isobel shrugged. “No jewels, then.” Turning to Ina, she dropped the fabrics and thread she’d collected into a pile on an empty table. “Perhaps another in brown. Shot with gold threads, it will show off that lovely hair of hers. I’m sure ye have Lady Scott’s measurements, and ye can set Agnes to the task immediately. I’ll do the embroidery myself.”

Mary’s head spun with the complete authority falling from Isobel’s lips, shocked and a little envious of the ease with which she ordered the new dresses.

Isobel turned back to Mary, a superior look on her face. “So, that’s settled. What shall we do with the rest of our day?”

Mid-morning sun slid down the castle walls and warmed the bailey. The open area bustled with people carrying out their daily chores. With satisfaction, Eaden noted the relaxed atmosphere among those gathered here, indicative of their faith in him to protect them from the troubles along the border. He cast a critical eye over the guards standing at attention on the wall. Everything seemed to be in order. If only his personal life could be so neatly arranged.

He left Duff in the care of a stable lad, feeling Sorcha’s desertion. He supposed there were worse things than watching his hound become a besotted bodyguard to his wife. Though the dog kept him faithful company on his journey, as soon as he’d halted to speak to Ranald and others he’d left in charge during his absence, Sorcha had bolted into the great hall in search of Mary.

With a purposeful stride, he crossed the bailey. No sense putting off the inevitable. He had to tell Mary she would remain his wife. Surely she’d come around in time. So why could he imagine the slow
tap, tap, tap
of the executioner’s drum in his blood?

There was no sign of Mary in the hall. She could be anywhere in the castle. He stopped a serving lass who hurried by with a jerk of his head. “Where is Lady Scott?”

“In the bower, I think, Laird.”

With a nod of thanks, Eaden headed for the spiral stairs winding upwards. He followed the hallway to the sun-filled room where generations of castle ladies spent their time—a room he’d not visited since a lad at his mother’s knee. As he poked his head inside the doorway, the sight of the women seated there, Sorcha lying placidly at Mary’s feet, flooded him with locked-away memories of his mother and her ladies in years past.

But his recollections were brought to a screeching halt as his mind registered who sat in the bower with his wife, chattering away, an embroidery hoop in her busy hands. His heart slammed in his chest as Isobel glanced up, her sloe eyes lighting with pleasure at the sight of him, her sensuous mouth curving upward in a sly smile at his obvious discomfiture.

“Laird,” she said smoothly, inclining her head in a submissive manner.

He narrowed his eyes as he came fully into the room. He didn’t know whether to question her or threaten her, and finally gave a curt nod. It was only an instant in time, but the air charged with their animosity.

Eaden swept his gaze over the other women, coming to rest on Mary who, much to his surprise, appeared excited to see him. Her green eyes glowed and her tentative smile slowly filled her sweet face. His pulse quickened in response to her look of joy before he released a quiet sigh. Mary’s happiness wouldn’t last long. She anticipated her long-awaited freedom, not him or the decision he’d made.

But he was prepared to reap the benefits of her sunny mood before sharing his quelling news. “Milady.” With a short bow to the ladies, he offered Mary his hand. She quickly set aside her sewing and placed her hand in his, rising to her feet. Something wicked in Eaden reared itself and he clasped her hand tightly and pulled her against him, claiming a bold kiss from his wife in full view of the others.

“Welcome home,” he coached her softly, his eyes on hers as he released her. Breathless at his unexpected embrace, Mary’s free hand touched her flaming cheeks. The look on her face slid from shock to secretive delight as she pulled her composure back together.

“Welcome home, indeed, Laird,” she replied, her voice low, a tiny smile lingering on her lips.

Eaden tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and tried to control the satisfied look on his face. He found it impossible to deny himself something that pleased him so well, knowing he’d face certain tears and recriminations in the very near future.

He led Mary from the bower and to the stairs, though he was forced to follow her down the narrow, winding steps. The view from behind was compensation enough, and he quickly reclaimed her hand once they reached the great hall. Wishing to delay the inevitable fight between them, he guided his wife through the castle gates and over the dusty trail toward the village.

He nodded to people in passing who acknowledged them with respectfully inclined heads or a murmured ‘Laird’ or ‘Lady.’ Mary strode quietly beside him, and Eaden sought a way to begin a conversation.

“Tell me news of the castle since I’ve been gone,” he began casually.

Mary gave him a puzzled look. “But you’ve only been gone a few days. I know of nothing out of the ordinary that has happened.”

He patted her hand to distract her from the intent behind his next words. “But ye seemed to be quite relaxed today in yer bower with the other women. There were a couple of new faces there, no?”

“If you’re asking if I’ve made friends, well, I suppose I have. Though I haven’t much reason to form close ties here,” she reminded him pointedly.

Eaden ignored the jab. “Who are yer new friends, Mairi?”

Mary sighed. “One is a clothier, a young woman named Agnes who is adding embroidery to a new pair of shoes for me . . .” She paused abruptly, and Eaden turned to her in surprise at her sudden halt. “I didn’t mean for it to go so far!” Guilt spilled over her stricken face. Eaden braced himself for whatever came next, alarmed to see her so distressed.

“But Isobel insisted my clothes were dull and unfashionable and not befitting the lady of the castle, and she took me to the wardroom and she and Ina picked out the most beautiful fabrics . . . I know I shouldn’t take advantage of your wardroom when it isn’t mine to use, not really! I told them only one dress, since I didn’t want to explain the situation between me and you, but then they added a bliaud and shoes, and a veil . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Eaden huffed impatiently to hear the rest. It took a moment of silence for him to realize Mary had stopped speaking. Fearing the worst kind of behavior from his former mistress, he managed to control his ire. “Tell me again what Isobel has done,” he demanded.

“‘Tis not her fault, Laird, but mine. She only wanted me to have something nice to wear.”

Eaden was silent for a full minute before he finally understood Mary’s words. “Ye are upset because the woman is making ye a dress?” he asked in disbelief. He’d not heard a word other than Isobel’s name nor seen past the distress on Mary’s face a moment ago. He had been sure the other woman had been up to no good. This was about a
dress
?

“I have no right to the wardroom as I am not really Lady Scott.” Mary’s eyes searched Eaden’s face as she spoke quietly. “The fabric is quite costly and I have no way to repay you.” She paused. “You did talk to King Robert, didn’t you?”

Eaden cursed softly. He hadn’t thought this through very well. He’d all but convinced himself Mary would take his news better if he showed her all he had to offer her. But now they were in full view of a number of people, and their curiosity was well-evident. He pulled her to him and gave her a quick kiss. There, let that settle some questions of the people watching them and perhaps turn the gossip in his favor. ‘Twas best the people of Craigievar thought their laird and lady to be in accord. It wasn’t going to last long.

Mary was again thrown off balance by Laird Scott’s actions. First he showed up unannounced and scowled at the ladies in the bower room. Then he kissed her as only a husband should, and in front of the others, nonetheless! He didn’t seem to be at all upset she used items from the wardroom as only the lady of the castle should have leave to do. From his forbidding frown a moment ago, she had thought he would dismiss her new friend, Isobel, from the castle for instigating such use of his property.

A few moments ago he’d kissed her in front of the people near the village, and now he led her down a narrow trail winding through the blooming yellow broom shrubs and up the slope rising slowly away from the castle.

They came to a stop in a grove of trees at the top of a rocky hill. Mary sensed the change in the breeze and knew they stood near the river even if she could no longer see the water. Eaden released her hand and strode away to the edge of the grove where it appeared the land simply disappeared from sight.

He stood staring off into the distance and Mary’s spirits plummeted. Had the news been good he would not now be struggling for a way to tell her.

Eaden motioned for her to come forward and she crossed to him with reluctant tread, only to stop in fearful surprise when the ground seemed to drop from beneath her feet. She scrambled backward, intent on self-preservation, but Eaden grabbed her arm and pulled her against his side, not heeding her distress.

“‘Tis one of my favorite views,” he said.

Mary swallowed and nodded, closing her eyes against the dizzying drop to the river waters below them.

“Ye can see the village, castle and river all from here.”

Holding her breath against the panic rising within, Mary did not reply.

“Damn, I thought ye’d like it here. Ye liked the view from the parapet well enough.”

Mary ventured to open one eye and caught him staring at her, his lips quirked in something resembling a smile.

“Yes, but there was a sturdy wall between me and falling!”

Eaden chuckled and leaned against the tree at his back, spreading his feet to brace himself. Dragging Mary around in front of him, he turned her toward the river and wrapped his arms firmly about her, holding her close.

“There, lass,” he murmured in her ear. “Take a look at the beauty of Craigievar. I willnae let ye fall.”

Broom spilled its yellow flowers across the mountains, and white, fleecy sheep dotted the landscape. Scott Castle loomed nearby, its stone tower house rising above the curtain wall, looking both timeless and invincible. Now intrigued by her surroundings, Mary leaned cautiously forward and peered over the edge of the cliff. Sunlight danced on the water below and she spied children playing on the broad banks of the river. Shrieks of laughter rose on the currents of air as the children ran and dodged each other in their game.

“It
is
beautiful,” she sighed.

“Then, Mairi, lass, learn to love it well, for the king will grant us no divorce.”