Captured by a Laird (12 page)

Rocking back on his heels with a satisfied glance around the space, Stref could see a bustling of people as they prepared for the feast. Fires blazed and meat roasted with a fragrant aroma, women fussed and primped, and men gathered in small groups, drinking mead and loudly proclaiming the pros and cons of the blessed institution that their laird was to become a part of. As he took in the scene, Stref noticed the slow progress of a hooded figure that emerged from the side door of the keep, and was relieved to see the familiar robes of the holy man.

The highlanders were known as an ungodly race, yet the presence of the nomadic holy men was a constant in the untamed surrounds. Moving from clan to clan, the devout men would attend to the births, deaths, and marriages in exchange for a soft bed and a hearty meal. This was given willingly by the big-hearted highlanders, and a night of storytelling and companionship usually followed. Each clan loved to hear tales from their rival crofts, and relished each snippet of scandal or outrageous anecdote.

The man, who now stood before Lord Harris, raised his wizened face to look at Stref.

“Laird,” he spoke with a soft lilt.

“You are most welcome here holy man.” Stref bowed respectfully.

“I ask to see the bride,” the holy man said with an air of authority. “I will not wed a lass that is unwilling to the act. Some of my brothers will perform such a duty, but I ask for compliance on both sides of the union.”

Stref looked at the solemn man for a time before he spoke. “I would ne’er force a lass to be my wife. Lena is the clan chief of Rwenor. We unite to strengthen our lands.”

“Nevertheless, I will meet her,” insisted the holy man quietly.

“When you do,” Stref laughed, ‘you will see that none could force her into anything she did not want to do!” He indicated for the man to follow before leading the way to the spiral staircase. “Top of the stairs, and then keep right until the end,” he directed.

As the small man disappeared from sight, Stref found himself wondering what Lena would say about him. He was astounded to realise that he cared for her good opinion.

“Damn the witch,” he growled.

“Now that is no way to speak of your intended.” Clyde came up from behind and clapped his friend firmly on the shoulder. “It seems all are set for the festivities except you. Come, greet our guest from Rwenor, and then I shall help you dress. Your plaid seems to have been misplaced,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

Allowing himself to be led away, Stref was glad for the support of his closest advisor. His mind was certainly distracted of late and he, once again, blessed the fact that he had not been called upon to battle in his current state of mind.

Val greeted Lord Harris with a cautious courtesy. The men that surrounded him were not as polite. Their black stares and the constant presence of their hands on their sword hilts made Stref uneasy. It had been he that had given the order not to disarm the men from Rwenor. He wanted their allegiance and thought that a show of trust may help him gain it. The sight of the swords had brought a gathering of Harris men around the new arrivals. Their looks of mistrust were adding to the tension.

“I want to see Lena,” Val said firmly.

“Join the queue!” scoffed Stref. Again, he marvelled at the loyalty that Lena inspired in her clan.

“I see no sign of the golden eagle,” Val added. “It never leaves Lena.” His final words were spoken with a harsh accusation.

“The bird rests,” Stref tried to explain to a sea of unconvinced faces. “It has certainly maintained a vigil here, but now it rests.”

“I will see for myself that she is well. Do not make me regret trusting you, Harris.” Val pulled himself up, thrusting out his chest in a challenge.

Stref glimpsed, for a split second, the man Val had once been—a big and imposing warrior. “I’ll show you where she readies herself,” he agreed.

As the two men mounted the stairs the holy man was making his way down.

“Now there is a lassie that would not be forced into marriage,” he said.

Val joined Stref as laughter filled the air and, for the second time that day, Stref showed a man to the corridor where his betrothed resided.

Chapter Fourteen

Lena smoothed the creases of the soft fabric down over her stomach. Inside it a war of nerves was being waged. The holy man had just left. It had taken her a while to convince him that she was in agreement with regards to the wedding. Her tear-stained face had told him a different story when he had first gently knocked upon her door.

Now Lena heard a new rap on the heavy wooden entry. This time it was accompanied by a call.

“Lena lass, are you in there?”

“Val,” cried Lena joyfully. She pulled open the door and flung herself into the old man’s outstretched arms.

For a while the two souls clung to one another, each glad at the other’s safety. Finally, they pulled apart and regarded the other.

“
Tsk
, that will not do,” Val said. “You canny wear the plaid of Harris.”

Lena was dressed in a simple white shift dress with the heavy plaid of Harris draped over her shoulder and secured around her narrow waist.

“It is all I have,” Lena admitted.

“Take mine then,” Val said, unwinding his own rich-green fabric, covering and swapping the two garments over.

“Val, are you sure?” Lena’s smile caused a dimple to dance at the corner of her mouth.

“If I wasn’t, I am now,” Val returned her smile. He stood back to admire his handiwork; then unpinned his own intricate clan brooch and fastened it to the vivid orange and brown plaid.

“You look beautiful, lass.”

Tears once again welled up in Lena’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Now are you sure about the choice you’ve made,” Val asked. “We can always ride out and return you to Rwenor.”

“Haigh is an enemy I would not wish upon Rwenor. With the alliance of Harris, we will have a greater chance to avoid his wrath. Stref Harris is a fair man. I am a willing accomplice to his plan.”

“I see you have the answer you seek,” Stref’s voice made Lena jump; then made her telltale body respond with welcome heat. Her cheeks flamed.

“I see that you are,” chuckled Val. “Let us begin this wedding then. In the absence of your father, I would ask that I have the honour of presenting you as the bride.”

Lena looked to Stref who nodded his assent.

“I see you dismissed the plaid of my clan,” Stref noted with a darkening of his eyes. “As my wife you will be expected to dress as one of my kin.”

“I enter this marriage as clan chief of Rwenor,” Lena bit back, her own temper rising at his tone. “I will wear the colours of my croft.”

Val’s chuckle ebbed the mounting tension from the pair who faced each other, eyes blazing. “I told you she was a fiery one, lad.”

“As part of the marriage, I will swap the plaid,” Stref compromised. “You will enter the hall as clan chief of Rwenor, but leave it Lady of Harris.”

“But…” Lena began.

“There will be no further argument,” Stref said turning to return the way he had come. “I will see you both downstairs.”

Lena looked at Val and shrugged with resignation.

“You will let him have his way sometimes, lass,” he coaxed. “Men have a great deal of pride that may need a delicate hand to nurse it.”

“Huh!” Lena was less than impressed. “I am sure I will have better things to do than play nursemaid to the precious pride of Lord Harris!”

With her chin raised, she felt her cheeks burn as she followed the path that Harris had just taken.

At the bottom of the steps, Lena paused, her bravado deserting her as the enormity of the task lay before her.

Val took her hand and tucked it under the crook of his arm in a fatherly gesture. “You have never looked lovelier, my dear.”

Lena smiled, her cheeks dimpling at once. “Thank you, Val.”

Quite a crowd had gathered in the hall, so many lingered in the entranceway making it a tight fit. The aisle loomed long before her as Lena prepared to take her first step towards the man who waited, his eyes fixed upon her, at the other end. Behind him, the holy man bobbed up and down as if still trying to ascertain the compliance of the bride. Lena was sure that if her stomach had not been doing tumble turns, she may have seen the humour in the scene.

“One step at a time, lass; just start with the first.” Val’s voice reassured softly into her ear. “Your ol’ dad would have been a proud man this day.”

“Do you think he would?” Lena stopped and turned her body to face her oldest friend. “He would not have aligned himself with Harris.”

“He would have done what was best for the croft,” Val soothed. “And you are his daughter. We are all behind you, lass.”

As he spoke, he nodded his head in the direction of the crowd. Lena angled her body to follow his gesture and saw faces of her own clan lining the hall. They beamed at her and nodded with encouragement.

“Do they all feel the same?’ Lena asked. “What of the burnings?”

“It would seem as though Haigh’s name may be the one to curse for those. For years he has been causing unrest among the highlanders, burning one and calling the name of another. Hate has festered and he has reaped the rewards of the wars and death. Stref spoke to the croft. He explained. He asked us for permission to marry you. Lass, he had the clan eating out of his hand.”

“H–he did?” Lena asked incredulously.

“What is preventing my nuptials?” Stref Harris’ voice boomed out across the hall.

Val replied, his voice equal in volume and tone. “Our chief is worth the wait!”

The crowd roared in approval and clapped as Lena walked more steadily than she felt inside, towards her future.

Chapter Fifteen

Stref looked along the hall. He was unsure what the hold-up had been, but now Lena walked towards him with slow graceful steps his heart was racing. He took in every detail of her appearance. The unruly curls had been tamed into long ringlets that cascaded down her back and shoulders like a foaming waterfall. Her eyes had been lined with the dark chalky stick that women favoured, giving them a smoky look. Her cheeks had a natural hue that had no need for the red stain that some women wore, and for that he was glad. Her natural beauty needed no enhancements. He remained unconvinced about the plaid, preferring the vibrant greens of his own clan. It mattered not, as she would soon be draped in his own cloth making her his. A small thrill sparked through him as his thoughts turned to the night that lay before them. Stref prided himself on his stamina, and he felt sure that the clan chief of Rwenor would be glad to be a Harris by the morning. The thought of how he would convince her brought a devilish smile to his handsome face.

As Lena came up alongside him, Stref Harris inhaled her scent. She still smelled as she had when he had plucked her from the fragrant water, of the lavender and mint that was customary to add to the bath of a bride. Lavender represented the calm tranquillity with which a bride should face her day, and the mint added a freshness that made the skin tingle in anticipation. Also used as a salve for unwilling wives, its properties were well known among the highland folk.

Stref’s hand shook slightly as he reached for the smaller hand of Lena. Hers trembled too and was as cold as ice to the touch. Unconsciously, Stref rubbed his thumb over the contours of her palm, trying to bring some life back to it. Lena looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back, delighted by the freckles that graced her sun-kissed cheeks that seemed to dance with her joy. He vowed at once to ensure that smile was present at much more regular intervals in the future.

The holy man held up his hands with a dramatic flair to silence the murmuring assembly.

“We are gathered,” he began. “To join not just the hearts of two, but the lives of many…”

“Fire!” screamed a hysterical voice from the back of the room.

A gasp rose up as a blackened woman ran through the crowd.

“Burning! My home is burning!” She stopped in front of Lena and fell down to her knees, clutching at the skirt of her laird.

“Guards!” called Stref, fury alive in his eyes.

He leaned down to pull the woman from the stained gown of his bride.

“Leave her,” Lena’s voice was dangerously low and Stref retracted his hand at once.

He motioned for the approaching guards to stand down. Paused and still, the scene seemed to freeze for a split second until chaos took reign.

“Gone!” sobbed the distraught woman. “My home and so many more.”

Lena crouched down to place a comforting arm around the sobbing form that had crumpled at her feet.

“Ssssh now, Mary. Tell me what happened.”

“They came like the very devil himself. They rode upon us with screams and curses, knocking the men to the ground and trampling the children with the hooves of their beastly mounts. The fire rose up and took hold quickly. Nothing remains.”

“Who?” Lena asked.

“They wore the plaid of Harris, just like those sent to protect us.” Mary stood now and scanned the room with a look of rage across her charcoal face. “You!” she screamed as she pointed to Stref. “You dared to call us all here then burn our homes, leaving us at your ruthless mercy.”

Angry shouts rose from around the room and the metallic sounds of weapons being drawn filled Stref’s ears. Desperation filled his heart as he turned to face the woman with whom he was just about to share his vows.

She believes it
. “Go to the chamber,” Stref’s voice came out in a desperate rasp. “We will talk soon.”

Lena stared at him. Her mouth fell open in astonishment. “Go to the chamber?” she echoed as if speaking from a place far away—a place where he was no longer permitted to be. Her eyes flashed with fury. “I will go to my people.”

Turning, Lena called out, “People of Rwenor. We will not remain here.”

The cheer that followed her words sank into Stref’s heart like a stone. He had lost her. She was about to leave and he could not do a thing to prevent it. He knew he had given no such order to burn, but could he be sure that his men felt the same. Until he could discover the truth he had no choice but to allow her to leave.