Highland Belle (3 page)

They galloped ahead a short distance, then slowed their horses to a more leisurely pace, being careful to stay within sight of the MacArthur warriors. Brigette smiled expectantly at Percy.

The greatest of Scotlands heroes is Robert the Bruce, he began, who bested yer English forces at Bannockburn.

I dont believe you! Brigette cried indignantly. Ive never heard of the Scots beating the English.

I amna surprised, Percy returned, but its true. Robert the Steward was the Bruces grandson and James the first was Roberts grandson. All the royal Stewarts, includin Queen Marys father, have ended tragically. Percy warmed to his subject. James the first was assassinated. His son, James the second, was crowned king when he was a six-year-old. Unfortunately, he was accidentally killed by an explodin cannon, and his son, James the third, came to the throne at nine years of age. Like his grandfather before him, James the third was also assassinated. James the fourth married Margaret Tudor, yer queens aunt. His fatal error was invadin England — bein defeated and killed at Flodden.

I know of Flodden, Brigette interjected.

Percy smiled wryly. Again, I amna surprised.

I believe tis best a country emphasizes its victories and virtues, Brigette said loftily, but a mischievous smile flirted with the corners of her lips. Do continue.

James the fifth, Margaret Tudors son and yer queens cousin, married Mary of Guise. Queen Mary is their daughter. Puir James died only a few hours after she was born. Some say he was heartbroken he didna produce a legitimate male heir. A number of his bastards are scattered across the land, some acknowledged and some not.

How sad!

I hope, he added, whatever curse is upon the Stewart family will be broken wi our bonnie Queen Mary.

It would be wise, Brigette commented, if she refrained from naming any son of hers James.

I agree wi ye. Percy chuckled at her reasoning. But then, how could an English lady know the mighty power of the clans? She would never understand the love-hate relationship that generations of self-serving Stewart monarchs had with the Highland chiefs, who were independent monarchs on their own lands. Mostly, the Stewarts suffering was wholly deserved.

Well, lass. Percy changed the subject. Two days and a night of travelin will see us at Dunridge.

So soon? Brigettes voice was unmistakably apprehensive.

Theres nae need to worry, Brie, Percy said. Iain is a good mon. As a matter of fact, Ill be surprised if we dinna see him before then.

What do you mean?

If Black Jack returns to Dunridge, Iain will surely ride out to greet ye. Im certain hes anxious to meet his bride.

The next morning Jamie was, as usual, standing beside Springs horse, awaiting her arrival. Pleased but shy, Spring approached with a smile on her lips.

Sweet Spring, Jamie teased. Ye were aptly named. Its my favorite season of the year.

Spring blushed furiously. I never knew the Scots were such outrageous flatterers.

It isna flattery. With one calloused hand, he cupped her chin. Be there any more at home as sweet as ye?

Three half sisters, she whispered, disconcerted by his touch. April, May, and June.

April, M-May, and J-J-June? Jamie sputtered, bringing a smile to her expression. I need no ask when they were born. Only half sisters? Is yer mother dead, then?

No. Spring looked away uncomfortably. Weve different fathers.

Im sorry ye lost yer own father, he said softly.

You neednt be, she returned. I never had one that I knew.

Im verra sorry, then. Jamie caressed Springs cheek, which burned with shame. I would never cause ye pain.

Jamie! Percy shouted. Cease flirtin wi the lady and help her mount.

Now it was Jamies turn to blush. His face reddened until it almost matched his flame-colored hair, and Spring grinned. Without another word, Jamie hoisted her into the saddle.

Although the day was cloudy and cool, Brigettes disposition was sunny as she rode silently beside Percy. She was nervous about meeting her husband, but glad they would arrive at Dunridge Castle the following day. Her morning hours were spent in dreamy contemplation, not of her husband, but of the steaming tub she would soak in for hours.

You do have tubs for bathing in Scotland, do you not? Brigette asked abruptly.

A smile tugged at the corners of Percys lips. Yes, we do.

Good. Brigette began humming a spritely tune. She could almost feel the waters heat, steaming away her aches and troubles.

Afternoon saw them entering Argyll, the MacArthurs home shire. Aided by low-hanging clouds of dark gray, dusk descended quickly, forcing the MacArthur entourage to make camp earlier than usual. The men divided themselves into two groups. One group went to work raising Brigettes tent while the other lit a cooking fire and began suppers preparation.

When the tent was erected, Spring left the warmth of the fire to make up their cots for the night. Brigette remained by the fire, and soon drowsiness mastered her senses. Her eyelids grew heavy and closed.

Roused by a loud disturbance, Brigettes eyes flew open. Were they being attacked? No sounds of fighting were forthcoming, only the sounds of arriving horses and mens laughter. It must be my husband! she thought. What should I do? If I go to the tent, hell have the advantage of sending for me; but if I stay where I am, hell have the advantage of looking down on me. The most dignified action is to meet Iain MacArthur as an equal. Brigette stood and walked toward the laughter.

As she advanced, Brigette recognized the now-familiar green and black of the MacArthur plaid. With his back to her, Percy greeted a red-haired man who resembled Jamie. She started forward but froze as their conversation reached her ears.

Dugie. Percy shook the others hand. Wheres Iain?

He isna here, Dugie answered. Were to escort ye home.

Black Jack isna returned from Edinburgh?

The laird is returned.

Well, wheres Iain, then?

Lady Antonia was havin some crisis wi wee Glenda. I dinna know what. Dugie grinned. Iain was neatly duped like a striplin lad. Dugie chuckled, then noticed Brigette. Is that the Sassenach bride?

Percy whirled around. Brigettes face was pale, and she shook with fury at her husbands devastating insult. With her lips curled in a silent snarl, Brigette stalked off.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Brigette Devereux MacArthur was no exception. She stormed into the tent, her sudden intrusion startling Spring.

Whats wrong? Spring cried, alarmed by her expression.

Hes insulted me again!

Who?

My husband! Brigette exploded. He sent his men as escort, but did not accompany them. Obviously, Iain MacArthur considers me unimportant!

Perhaps he was unable —

His man gave Percy no good reason for his absence, Brigette snapped. The man laughed. At me!

Oh! Perhaps —

Do not make excuses for a man who does not have one! Brigette roared. Whose side are you on anyway?

Is this a war? Spring returned angrily. Are we to choose sides?

This is no war. Brigettes voice was deadly low. A war must be fought between two, and Ill suffer no more of this.

What are you . . .?

Brie? Percys voice sounded outside the tent.

Tell Percy that I want to be alone, Brigette ordered.

Spring sighed and stepped outside. She wishes to be alone, my lord.

But I must tell her about Antonia.

Antonia?

My brother Malcolms widow, Percy explained. Shes the reason Iain isna here.

Brie is tired, Spring said. Im certain shell be more understanding in the morning.

Yes, Percy agreed doubtfully, yer probably correct.

3

Well? Spring said, staring at Brigette, who was sitting on one of the cots. At the sound of her cousins voice, Brigette looked up but made no reply.

Brie, what are you going to do?

Nothing, at the moment, she answered. Ive a need to be alone. Why dont you sup with Jamie?

Spring studied Brigette a moment longer, then left. Alone again, Brigettes expression froze in a grimace, her thoughts returning to her husbands devastating insults.

Suddenly, Brigettes lips turned up in a winsome smile, the product of an outrageous idea taking root in her mind. Iain MacArthur needs a lesson in humility, she decided. That he needs his legal wife to beget a legitimate heir is a fact he has forgotten, and reminding him will be my pleasure. I am going home and will not return until that heathen begs on bended knee for my forgiveness!

Brigette leaped from the cot, rummaged through Springs baggage, and pulled out one of her cousins older traveling outfits. She couldnt wear her own clothing on the way home; no one must guess that she was an earls daughter.

Brigette hid the garments beneath her cot, then sat down to plot her escape. Because of the sentries, she could not take her horse. With a sigh, Brigette resigned herself to a very long walk back to Basildon Castle. She gave no thought to food or even where she would sleep, assuming shed find accommodations along the way.

Awakening with a start, Brigette realized shed fallen asleep and almost lost her one chance to escape. Her eyes darted to Springs cot. The other girl slept.

Rising, Brigette reached under the cot and pulled out the borrowed clothes. Quickly and quietly, she stripped and donned the threadbare garments.

On tiptoes, Brigette scurried to the tents flap and listened. Should she venture out or not? All was silent, but she knew the MacArthur guards were lurking somewhere near.

Indecision gripped Brigette. She turned around, deciding to sneak out the back. Spring moaned in her sleep, and Brigette froze, only her eyes moving to where the other girl lay.

Several long moments passed. Reaching the back of the tent, Brigette knelt and lifted the bottom, then peered out at the night. No one was about. On hands and knees, she crawled toward the safety of the forest. When she reached the trees, Brigette stopped and listened for the sounds of alarm. All remained quiet. Slowly, Brigette got to her feet and stepped deeper into the woods.

The sky had cleared, and the moon was brilliantly full, but as the firelight faded, so, too, did Brigettes courage. In her haste to escape, shed forgotten her fear of the dark and being alone. Now the nights sounds closed in upon her. An owl hooted nearby and Brigette jumped, her heart pounding frantically. She heard a wolfs lonely lament and froze, too frightened to take another step.

With tears streaming down her face, Brigette leaned against a tree. I cannot escape and then return, she moaned. How humiliating that would be! How foolish to place myself in jeopardy because of a mans insults! Brushing her tears away, Brigette sat down and nestled against the tree, then closed her eyes and waited for the dawn.

The night was black when Brigette, having dozed, opened her eyes. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, sending a shiver racing down the length of her spine. Brigette looked around, forcing herself to search for danger, then gasped. A pair of shining eyes watched her. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

The moon peeked out from behind a passing cloud, and Brigette giggled nervously. The shining eyes belonged to a baby fox. Youre a sly one, she whispered, and held out her hand.

Curious, the fox advanced, then stopped and sniffed the air. Deciding Brigette was no danger, it stepped closer.

Have you lost your mother? Brigette murmured, and noticed that its copper hair resembled her own. Feeling not quite so alone, Brigette patted the fox. Responding to the gentle touch, it snuggled against her, and together they settled down for the night.

Dawn was washing the sky a pale shade of gray. All but a few of the MacArthur warriors were still sleeping when a solitary man rode, unchallenged, into their midst. He nodded to the guards and dismounted, then sauntered toward the cooking fire.

Iain MacArthur cut an imposing figure. Six feet tall and muscularly built, there was not an ounce of extra meat upon his frame. He appeared lean, but locked in mortal combat, his enemies soon realized their folly in underestimating his superior strength. His hair and eyes were as black as a moonless midnight. A long, straight nose and full lips blended harmoniously, and his face was made even more handsome by his complexion, tanned and ruddy from exposure to all kinds of weather. Women were fatally attracted to Iains dark face and form, his image of raw masculinity rendering him irresistible.

Iain looked down at Percy, who still slept. Squatting beside his brother, he thought how much Percy resembled their deceased mother. Leaning close to Percys ear, he said loudly, Good mornin to ye, brother.

Percy bolted up. His face contorted in a grimace, then split into a grin. Iain!

I knew I shouldna have sent ye to do a mons job, Iain said. Yer still a lazy lug-a-bed, like when we were lads.

Percy stood and wrapped himself in his plaid, then turned on Iain. Congratulations on yer marriage, brother. Percy grinned. Did ye enjoy the weddin night?

Didna I instruct ye to do it by proxy? Iain returned, a smile flirting with the corners of his lips. It musta slipped my mind. Percy chortled with laughter. By the way, he added, where is the bride Ive ridden all night to meet?

Sleepin, I suppose, Percy answered, his eyes drifting to the silent tent. Lady Brigette — Brie, her friends call her — is a bonnie lass.

Shall we wake her so I can see for myself?

I must have a word or two wi ye first.

Im listenin.

Patience isna one of yer finer points, brother, Percy began, but ye must be patient wi yer bride. However bonnie she may be, Brie has a fine temper to match yer own.

However spicy the wench may be, Iain returned, Im capable of handlin her. Lets go.

No so fast, brother. Percy placed a hand on Iains arm. Shes no common wench to be handled, as ye so delicately put it. Weddin by proxy was an insult to her pride, and the lady is furious. Dinna forget shes an earls daughter.

So?

Percy frowned. She wore a black gown of mournin to the ceremony. Id say she isna harborin any fondness for ye. And last night —