Amanda Forester (2 page)

Elyne was accustomed to living with large Highland men, but even so, Grigor was an intimidating figure. He stood before her, mute and glowering. She took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. She was not marrying Grigor for his looks nor his bonnie disposition nor, apparently, for his command of basic social skills, she was marrying him because… because… well, she’d tease that out later. The most important thing to remember was that his appearance and disposition did not matter to her.

And yet Elyne felt as if something heavy was pressing onto her shoulders and she was shrinking beneath its weight. Tavish smiled at her. Tavish was pleasant and kind and attractive.

Tavish may be everything she wanted, but she would marry Grigor Grant.

Tavish watched with interest as Elyne Campbell met her groom for the first time. She was a pretty lass with thick, blond hair that fell from her blue veil in two long plaits. Her features were pleasing, with deep blue eyes and pink lips that were currently tightening into a thin line. She was tall for a lass, with square shoulders that made her look strong and competent. She would need all her composure if she was to live as wife to Grigor Grant.

Grigor Grant looked Elyne up and down. “Aye, she’ll do.”

“I thank ye kindly,” said Elyne tartly. “But what exactly is it I will do?”

Tavish’s eyebrows raised and he smothered a smile behind a cough. In contrast, Grigor’s eyebrows shut down over his eyes and his scowl deepened. No one said a word.

Elyne smiled sweetly.

“I shall leave ye to yer pondering.” Elyne strode majestically out of the room.

Tavish resisted the urge to scratch his head. He was trying to recall anyone, male or female, who had stood up to the imposing Grigor with such apparent confidence. He doubted he had ever seen it done.

“Why were ye talking wi’ her?” Grigor glared at Tavish.

Tavish shrugged. “She was looking for someone else and knocked on the door. Seemed the thing to do to be friendly, which is more than I can say for ye.”

“I said she was acceptable,” protested Grigor.

“Not sure she took it as a compliment.”

“Why not?”

Tavish would have laughed, but he could see for Grigor it was an honest question. The man was nothing if not blunt.

“Ye may wish to speak to yer lady wi’ more consideration for her feelings,” suggested Tavish.

Grigor gave an inarticulate snort. “We will wed by contract. She will oversee the house and raise the heirs. No feelings necessary.”

“But surely ye would wish yer bairns to be treated with affection?”

Grigor shook his head. “Dinna want them spoilt.”

Tavish shrugged and went back to his work. There was nothing more to be said.

The journey to Alnsworth Castle had taken the better part of a month, but an alliance with the well-connected Campbell clan was desirable to the ambitious Grigor. Of course, the match was not quite as prestigious as a Douglas or a Stewart would be, but still, it was good enough to commit to the journey.

They initially expected to travel to one of Campbell’s castles in the Highlands, but Campbell had acquired Alnsworth Castle through marriage to his English wife and did not want to leave the fortress unprotected. England still considered Alnsworth and all its lands to be part of England, a claim the powerful Campbell laird denied.

Even though peace had been officially restored between England and Scotland, disagreements along the border were common. Campbell wished to host a May Day festival and see two of his sisters married, but he feared if he left Alnsworth it would be recaptured by the English. It had made their trip longer, but the Grants were now in the company of powerful lairds, and that alone was enough to draw Grigor Grant.

***

Elyne prepared to enter the great hall with more trepidation than she was inclined to show her younger twin sister. Despite entering this world only ten minutes before Effie, she felt the burden of caring for her younger siblings. Being number eight of twelve children, Elyne had learned by necessity how to take care of things.

Her disappointment at meeting her intended for the first time was not something she wished to share. She wanted her sister to meet Grigor without bias. She also, if she was completely honest, did not wish to admit her sister might be right.

Elyne and Effie stood behind their brother and Isabelle and prepared for a grand entrance into the hall. The roar of the raucous crowd grew louder as they approached. Elyne compulsively smoothed her bright-blue gown with golden embroidery along the bodice and edges of the sleeves. The gown had been laced tighter than she generally wore in order to make a good impression. Apparently, cleavage featured prominently in this impression, but it did not help her take a breath.

Effie stood next to her, and without looking, they reached out to hold each other’s hand. Twins. Effie wore a similar gown of deep red silk, and they both wore gauzy veils with gold bands holding them in place atop their heads.

The herald announced them and they walked into the hall with cheers from the clans echoing through the hall. It was deafening. Effie gave her hand a squeeze and Elyne squeezed back. She wished to be married, but marriage meant separation from Effie. David glanced back and caught her eye with a supportive nod. Marriage meant leaving all her family.

Elyne and Effie followed David and Isabelle into the great hall, their younger sisters following them. The crowd cheered and then silenced. At the far end of the hall stood two groups of men. David Campbell strode to them with a friendly air.

Grigor Grant was more formally attired than she had seen him earlier but appeared even more severe, if such a thing was possible. Laird Maclachlan, Effie’s intended, was a young, handsome man. In one brief moment of cowardice, Elyne considered trying to get Effie to trade with her, particularly if she did not intend to marry the man.

It was all very respectable. Elyne and Effie were introduced to their future husbands in a rousing ceremony. Effie was dolefully well-behaved, but Elyne could tell by the set of her fake smile that Effie had no intention of marrying her intended groom. For her part, Elyne was committed to marry the man her brother had chosen for her.

Absolutely determined.

Even if he did ignore her for most of the meal, preferring to lavish his attention on his meat, his whisky, and his serving wench, in that order. It was of no concern to Elyne that on the rare occasion that his attention was directed her way, he glared at her like a heifer, and a sickly one at that. In contrast to his cousin, Tavish was smiling and gave the impression of a man enjoying himself immensely. He turned to Elyne a few times and gave her such a winning smile, she was forced to return it.

The banquet itself was a success. Many clans had traveled down to the border with England to celebrate May Day and make important matches. The Campbells were there in force, along with the Douglases, Maclachlans, Grants, and others. It was the beginning of the May Day celebration, which could only be celebrated properly with roast venison, boar’s head, salmon, haddock, roast apples, and an abundance of pies, sweet and savory. As if that was not enough, the last course was sure to please all, with ginger cakes and marzipan in the shape of little animals.

The banquet was delicious and the company indulged voraciously. The entertainment was also of considerable quality. Jugglers, troubadours, and acrobats almost made Elyne forget her fate.

Almost.

“Do ye have a moment to speak wi’ me?” Elyne asked Grigor as his party stood to leave the hall at the end of the feast. It was a bold move on her part, to try to have words with her intended and force him into the parlay by asking before his and her kin.

He gave a short nod in agreement—there was little else he could do. “What do ye wish to say?”

“I would ask for a moment in private,” said Elyne. She glanced at her brother and David nodded in assent.

She and Grigor had gotten off on the wrong footing. It was awkward, but she was Elyne Campbell. She never backed down from a challenge. She would fix this.

Elyne followed her brother into his private solar, followed by her intended, Grigor Grant. It was here David Campbell kept his most precious objects: his books. He had an illustrated Bible and a copy of Aristotle transcribed into Latin by the monks of St. Ambrose’s priory.

A large engraved writing desk was in the middle of the room with a rare map of the area displayed on it. The room was richly appointed with multiple tapestries on the walls and some trophies of war—swords and helmets—hung to impress. Elyne glanced at Grigor, but if the taciturn man had any interest, he did not let his feelings show. He did not let any feeling show.

Campbell rolled up the map and took out another scroll from a drawer in the desk. “Here is the contract.”

Elyne peered at the document. Once signed, her fate was sealed. To sign the engagement papers was as binding as the marriage ceremony. She glanced at the contract but did not need to read it. She knew every line, since she had been involved in writing it. It was a good contract, fair to both parties, and had been approved by the Grants as well.

“Ye may read it,” Campbell offered to Grigor, but the man shook his head.

“I am certain it is as it should be,” Grigor replied.

Campbell opened the inkwell and brought forth a quill. Elyne’s heart began to race and her hands were cold and sweaty. Had she fallen ill? Campbell crossed his arms in front of his chest, and Grigor followed suit. Did she wish to marry this man?

“I would like a moment alone with Grant, if ye please,” Elyne requested of her brother.

Campbell gave her a short nod and left the room.

Elyne took a deep breath and faced her intended. He was not an unattractive man—once you got past the glower—and was undeniably muscular and fit. He was not much of a conversationalist, but he would be what her nurse would call good breeding stock. He would produce healthy lads by the bushel, of that she had no doubt. He would inherit the position of Sheriff of Inverness, which was not an insignificant title.

At the heart of her decision, Elyne wished to be mistress over her own home and raise children. Grigor, she was convinced, would no doubt do that much. However, there was only one way to make those bairns she coveted. And that was in bed with Grigor Grant.

“I hope ye had a pleasant journey.” Elyne broke the silence. She had hoped that if she remained quiet, Grigor would speak first. It was not to be.

Grigor grunted in response. “Took long. Got wet in the river. I hope ye dinna mind travel. We live a long distance from here and I dinna wish to be slowed down on the return.”

“I can ride sufficient enough for ye, I trust.” Elyne swallowed and tried to funnel her nerves into words. She was not generally at a loss to speak. “I hoped we could get to know each other before signing the contract. Make sure we would suit.”

Grigor frowned. “The contract has been prearranged and agreed upon. Ye wish to change the terms?”

“Nay, ye mistook me. I would like to know if ye wish to be married to me.”

“Aye. I would’na have traveled clear across Scotland if I dinna plan to marry.”

“And do ye like what ye see?” Elyne pushed harder than she would normally, but with Grigor she could see subtlety was not going to be a winning strategy.

Grigor looked her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time. “Ye look hardy enough to bear children.”

“Is naught else important to ye?”

“I like a well-organized household and I dinna tolerate fractious nonsense. Most o’ the time I will likely be away, so I dinna wish to have a wife too dependent.”

Elyne nodded; she thought she understood. He did not want to have emotional attachments with his wife. It would only make him or her unhappy to tolerate long separations. “I understand. I have managed my brother’s household at times while he has been away.”

Grigor gave a terse nod. “We should suit well.” He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I am not a man accustomed to dealing wi’ the fairer sex. Ye’ll get no wooing from me, but I swear, as my wife, I will honor and protect ye wi’ my life if need be.”

Elyne did not doubt it. Grigor Grant was a hard man, but honest and true. There would be no sweet talk, but he would treat her fairly. She had received from him all the encouragement she was going to get. It would have to be enough.

Elyne took a deep breath and grabbed the quill. It was time to take a chance. She dipped it in the ink, and before she could succumb to nerves, she signed her name on the bottom of the contract. She held out the quill and Grigor took it from her hand.

“There ye are!”

Both Grigor and Elyne turned at the interruption. Mistress Douglas stood at the door, her hands on her gilded hips. She swept into the room as if on wheels, her silk bejeweled gown trailing behind.

“Did ye need something?” asked Elyne. Could this woman not see she was interrupting a private meeting?

“Aye. I am retiring to my chamber and I wish to have something to sup on before I sleep. Go to the hall and bring me up a savory trifle and some ginger cakes.”

“I am sorry, but I am attending to other business at the present,” said Elyne.

“Ye need no’ trouble yerself for me,” said Grigor. “Our business is concluded.”

The Douglas lass gave her a superior smile, one which required Elyne to clasp her own hands tight to prevent her from smacking the smile off her face.

Elyne had been dismissed. “As ye wish.” She curtsied to Grigor and left the field with Mean ’Leen in possession of the room. Not good. And whether he was being polite or obtuse, her betrothed had in no way defended her. Also not good.

Elyne slunk down the stairs to the kitchens, her stomach sinking like iron. With a sudden flash of panic, she realized it was too late. The contract had been signed. Whatever her feelings may be about the matter, she would be married to Grigor Grant.

Elyne was too busy thinking about her future husband to be concerned about where she was going. She headed for the great hall on the way to the kitchens, where she could request a repast for her guest. Though if Eileen Douglas was still hungry after sitting through six hours of feasting, she had a stronger stomach than most men. No, she simply wanted to make trouble for the Campbell sisters any way she could.

The noise emanating from the great hall should have given her pause, but she was too accustomed to a multitude of large, boisterous male relations to give it much mind. Within the great hall, the majority of the more sober, older, or feminine (respectable feminine that is) folks had retired, and what was left were drunken young men and giggling serving wenches.

A rowdy group was cheering at a tower of tables with a chair balanced precariously on top. The object of the cheers was a man standing high on an oak crossbeam in the rafters of the high ceiling.

“Tavish Grant!” shouted Elyne, for the man on the beam was none other. “Ye come down here before ye kill yerself dead.”

Tavish picked her out of the crowd and gave her a cheeky smile and a salute. “As ye wish,” he shouted, and jumped.

Elyne gasped, watching his body fall from a fatal height, but in defiance of gravity, he landed in the chair on top of the table tower. He had time enough for a smile before the chair slipped and he scrambled off to the table beneath, which also began to topple along with the entire tower, so he jumped again from considerable height, landing on his feet and rolling several times until he collapsed in a heap along the rushes on the floor.

Elyne pushed her way through the crowd and kneeled beside him, pretending not to notice how his kilt was rucked up to his thighs. “Are ye dead, ye fool man?”

Tavish opened one eye. “No’ yet. Night’s young though. Ask me again in the morn.”

Elyne sighed in relief, though why she should care if he broke his neck she could not say. “Fool man,” she muttered and turned to leave the party to their drunken sport.

“Hello there, my wee bonnie lassie.” A large man with a considerable gut stumbled toward her and attempted to put his arm around her shoulders.

Elyne scooted out of his way only to be confronted by a wall of smiling men, none of whom she knew. She glanced around for one of her brothers or cousins but none were to be seen. She vaguely remembered David telling them to stay out of mischief and steer clear of the drunken aftermath of the feast. And now she was here.

Alone.

“Ye be a bonnie thing. A verra bonnie wench.” Another man grabbed her waist and pulled her tight to him. She pushed away but only succeeded in pushing herself into another drunken man. She was surrounded.

“Och, but she’s a lusty one!” shouted a man.

“I am Elyne Campbell, sister of Laird Campbell. Let me pass!” she commanded with as much authority as she could muster. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. The men did not move. Someone grabbed at her backside, causing her to yelp. The men laughed in response.

“Come spend some time wi’ me.”

“Ne’er mind him. Come wi’ me.”

“I’ll give ye a coin or two, my pretty.”

“Enough!” Tavish Grant’s voice boomed across the great hall. He stepped forward and the men parted like the sea for Moses. “Ye be addressing Laird Campbell’s sister.”

The men gave her a series of sheepish bows and then returned to their sport, casting lots to see who would jump next. Somehow Tavish’s words held considerably more weight than hers. She would be irritated if she were not so grateful.

“May I escort ye back to yer chamber, m’lady?” Tavish bowed and came up with a grimace.

“How’s yer back after that fall?” Elyne accepted his arm and they walked out of the great hall.

“Hurts a wee bit, which means by morn I’ll be crying like a babe.” He gave her a lopsided smile and she could not help but return it.

“I want to thank ye for coming to my rescue.” Elyne swallowed a lump in her throat. “I dinna ken what I would have done wi’out ye.”

“No trouble at all. Hardest part was standing up.” Tavish laughed. “They be good lads, only drunk and foolish. They mistook ye for another sort o’ lass.”

Elyne knew exactly the kind of lass they mistook her for—and what might have happened had he not intervened. She shuddered.

“There now, ye need to go back to yer chamber and warm yerself.” He raised his arm and she thought for a moment he was going to put his arm around her shoulders, but he thought better of it and moved on down the stone corridor.

Several comments flashed in to Elyne’s head, but none seemed fit to speak. She should not encourage a friendship with Tavish. She was conscious of wishing once again that it was Tavish and not Grigor she was to wed, but viciously banished the thought.

“If ye dinna mind me asking, why were ye in the hall?” asked Tavish. “Not the company I’d think ye would want to keep.”

“Mean ’Leen!” Elyne all but hissed the name.

“Pardon?”

“That woman! She sent me to fetch some food for her. She is always making trouble.” Elyne stopped in front of the door of the bedchamber she shared with her three younger sisters. “I suppose I should find a ghillie to bring her some food.”

Tavish leaned a shoulder onto the gray stone wall, his face illuminated by a flickering torch on the far wall. “I dinna see why ye should bother yerself. She can send a ghillie herself if she is hungered. Though I canna see how anyone could still want for food after such a feast. Is this Mean ’Leen a hefty woman?”

Elyne laughed. “Nay, but mayhap I’ll tell her tomorrow I forsook delivering food after hearing a man comment on her girth.”

“Ye got a bit o’ mischief in ye, Elyne my lass.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. He called her “my lass,” causing a warmth she could not name spread from her fingertips to her toes. This was not something she was supposed to feel, and certainly not for her betrothed’s cousin.

“Good night to ye,” she spoke softly, opening the door to her room and putting a foot on the threshold. She needed to clear her head.

“Good night to ye, m’lady.”