The Highlander's Bride Trouble (5 page)

Except for when her father was going to be at the high table.

“I’ll have to wear something boring,” Abigail groused.

Nareen opened a wardrobe and sorted among the dresses. There were many made of silk,
which crinkled when she moved them. Rich velvet, as well as costly brocade, was soft
beneath her fingertips.

“Not the wool,” Abigail instructed. “I detest it so.”

Wool was the fabric of the Highlands. Abigail was a foolish brat to shun it. When
it was wet, wool would still keep the body warm. No other fabric offered its wearer
such an amenity, or protection from the harsh Highland climate.

Nareen selected a brocade dress with silver trim.

“I suppose I must,” Abigail complained when Nareen brought it to her.

Nareen gave her no reply but got on with helping her dress. Abigail was older than
she was but often reminded Nareen of a child.

***

The Great Hall was lit with over a hundred candles. The scent of beeswax floated through
the air as the Ross retainers and castle residents settled onto the long benches to
enjoy the evening meal. With the sunlight gone, it was their opportunity to relax
and enjoy one another’s company. Only a fool wasted the daylight hours, one who would
learn their lesson when they had empty bellies and leaking roofs during the winter.

The kitchens began to send in platters of hot meat pies and fresh bread. Since it
was summer, there were greens and berries. Pots of fresh butter and even honey sat
on the table.

The Great Hall was large and filled with long tables. At the end of the Hall was a
raised platform that held the high table. The Earl of Ross presided over the evening
meal from a chair that had a high back. It rose above his head and had the Ross coat
of arms carved into it. From the back of the Hall, there was no missing who was master.
He had a benevolent smile on his lips and looked strong enough even though his hair
was gray.

Saer MacLeod sat next to the earl. He actually wore a doublet, but it was open halfway
down his chest, and the sleeves were open and tied behind his back.

Nareen shivered and bit her lip to distract herself.

Did the man never feel the night air?

He’d certainly looked at home in the darkness the night before. He was at home behaving
like a savage, too. Kissing in church was for those who didn’t fear the wrath of the
priests and their love of sentencing offenders to the stocks.

Of course, a laird didn’t often suffer the same penalties as the rest of the congregation.
Saer could buy his way out of a public reprimand if it came to it.

Her cheeks heated, and she aimed her gaze at Abigail’s back to keep her thoughts off
him. But it was not so simple to erase the memory of his kiss from her mind. She still
felt the steady grip on her neck and the way she’d irrefutably enjoyed it.

That was a sin.

“There’s me lass.” The earl looked up from his meal. He pointed a small eating dirk
at Abigail. “Ye’ve kept me guest waiting, Daughter.”

Abigail stopped at the foot of the stairs that led up to the high table. She lowered
herself, if it were possible to call the quick bob she made such a thing. It certainly
lacked any sincerity. Her father frowned at her, but she flounced up the steps to
take her place beside him.

“Laird MacLeod is nae here to see me, Father.” Two burly retainers stepped forward
to assist the lady. They pulled her chair back and waited while she fussed with her
skirts before pushing it up to the table. Nareen fell into place behind her mistress’s
chair.

“He’ll make no offer for me,” Abigail said.

“What’s this ye say, Daughter?”

“He was watching Nareen Grant back at court.” Abigail held up her hand for her goblet.
A young lad retrieved it from the cupboard and brought it to her. “And kissed her
in the chapel this morning.”

Nareen’s cheeks burned, but she had to maintain her position behind her mistress.
More than one sly look was aimed her way.

“What’s this?” the earl demanded.

Abigail took a long drink, then smirked at Saer. “It is simple, Father. Laird MacLeod
was raised among the isles and lacks any sort of refinement—”

“On the isles, children do nae use such tones with their parents,” Saer interrupted.
“If that is a lack of refinement, I am content with me rough ways.”

“Ha!” The earl laughed. “What have ye to say to that, Daughter? Laird MacLeod is nae
impressed with yer tart words and, unlike the last few whelps who sat at me table
and tried to call themselves yer suitors, Saer MacLeod speaks plainly. That is nae
a lack of refinement. It is the mark of a Highlander.”

Abigail pouted. “I have no suitors any longer because ye insult them. Which is why
I must return to court, to find another.”

Saer’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t the only man in the room who cast disapproving looks
toward the highborn daughter of the house. “If a few harsh words were enough to banish
them,” Saer informed her, “ye are better off not wed to a coward. A Highlander should
speak only the truth. If a man cannae look the father of the woman he desires in the
eye, he is nae worthy of her.”

“True!” The earl nodded. “I cannae stomach a man without courage.” He leaned toward
Saer. “I growled at her last suitor only once, and he turned white! I cannae have
that sort of blood in me grandchildren.”

“Yer daughter should desire better,” Saer decided firmly. “The Ross are nae weaklings.”

There were nods and grunts of approval from the people watching from the lower tables.

“Well, I shall nae stand for a savage instructing me on any matter.” Abigail began
to wave her hands at the retainers standing behind her father. “I shall sup above
stairs.”

“Ye’ll stay, Daughter.” The earl’s expression tightened. The soft old man had vanished.
His fingers were clenched into a fist now, his gaze sharp. “And ye’ll mind that tongue
of yers in front of me guest.”

“Yer trust is misplaced, Father.” Abigail wasn’t willing to back down. “This savage
kissed me companion in the church this morning. He has no sense of propriety, and
I shall nae listen to him.”

The earl pounded the tabletop. “Enough!” he commanded. “Where is this lass? Come around
where I may see ye.”

Nareen had no choice. She went around the end of the long table and lowered herself
in front of the earl. He leaned forward to inspect her. His gaze was still sharp,
and he made two passes up and down her length before nodding.

“I believe I’d think less of ye, Laird MacLeod, if ye didn’t kiss such a fetching
lass. If I were young enough to catch her, I’d do the same.”

The Hall filled with laughter.

“Father, ye are being a toad!”

The earl turned and looked sternly at Abigail. “Ye need spend more time worrying about
yer own sins! Ye are a gossip, and ye spend too much time thinking about what others
are doing, when ye should be securing yerself a husband. A fortune has been spent
on yer trips to court, and what do we have to show for it? Suitors who cannae sit
through a single supper with me?” He chuckled and pulled on a gray tuft of his beard.
“I am such a fearsome sight, after all. I will have me secretary sort through the
offers I have for ye tomorrow, since it seems Laird MacLeod has eyes for another.
I admit, I had hoped he was here to offer for ye.”

Saer didn’t even try to hide his disgust at the mere idea of having Abigail for wife.
Behind him, his captain’s expression was tight and disapproving. He even leaned slightly
away from her.

Abigail’s mouth hung open for a moment. She was fuming, but she closed her mouth and
took a deep breath before speaking.

“I will find a better match at court,” Abigail insisted in a tone that was far more
respectful, even if one look in her eyes confirmed it was only a sham. “Please, Father,
I beg ye to let me know what sort of man I’ll wed. Proposals written on paper are
so cold.”

The earl drummed his fingers on the table. “What of this scandal that had ye sent
home to me? The king was most displeased. The Ross do nae need the king’s wrath. He
sent ye home for me to deal with. Make no mistake, Daughter, I’ll keep me house in
order, even as old as I am.”

“It was a misunderstanding only.” Abigail aimed wide eyes at her sire. “I swear it
upon me sweet mother’s memory.”

The earl instantly changed his demeanor. His gaze became soft as he became lost in
his recollections. “Yer mother was a spring blossom. She never said an unkind word.
Never. Her heart was so tender, I could deny her nothing.”

“Ye promised her I might choose me own husband.”

Her father grunted before lifting his hand for his goblet. “Only so long as the man
is a good match, Daughter! Marriage is a business.”

“Of course, Father, which is why I must return to court. With the king nearing the
age of his majority, everyone is there to make sure they are seen.”

The earl gripped his goblet and peered at his daughter over its silver rim. “Aye,
that’s sensible enough.”

Abigail watched him take a long drink, and the corners of her mouth twitched. The
earl wasn’t content, and continued to drink until he’d drained his goblet.

“That’s how to enjoy supper!” he declared, turning his goblet over to show one and
all it was empty. The moment he handed it back to his cup boy, the lad was rushing
back to the cupboard to refill it. The earl kept his hand out, his fingers opening
and closing restlessly as he waited for the goblet to be returned.

“Ye are falling behind, Laird MacLeod.”

Saer leaned on his elbow so he might make eye contact with the earl. “Yer daughter
is correct on one account. I was raised on simple fare and find it to me taste. I
have no affection for French wine, but yer cook is talented.”

The earl frowned then returned to eating. “It’s sad I am to hear that, but I suppose
it shall leave ye clearheaded enough to nae allow me daughter too much rein tonight.
She is spoilt, I confess. I should have remarried and provided her a mother. It’s
me failing.”

Abigail was turning red, but she didn’t argue. She smirked again when her father took
his goblet and drank long and deep. Within an hour, he’d be senseless.

Nareen had watched it all before. The earl was not a bad man, but he still mourned
his dead wife. Another goblet of wine, and he would begin telling stories of their
years together. Pinned to his shoulder was a gold-framed miniature painting of her.
He’d pass out right in his chair with that painting cradled in his hands. His men
would carry him to his chamber, leaving Abigail to her own devices.

It was not her concern.

And yet…it was. The memory of Abigail’s words needled her, undermining the trust Nareen
had in her position. It might not be as safe a haven as she’d decided it was.

That didn’t mean she would be taking Saer’s offer.

No. The Highlander represented another danger, one that was far more personal, because
she felt drawn to him. The only way to protect herself from that curse was to ensure
she was nowhere near him.

Nareen stood behind her mistress, waiting for the woman to finish supper. It was her
place. She didn’t resent it, because she enjoyed the freedom being a servant provided.
So what if she had to wait to eat until Abigail dismissed her?

It was her choice.

And that was worth everything.

Nareen shifted her gaze to Saer MacLeod without realizing it. He represented many
of the reasons she was happy with her position as Abigail’s servant. Saer MacLeod
would likely please her brother as a match, and then she would become his servant,
even her body no longer her own.

But the memory of the way Abigail’s voice had filled with anticipation when she spoke
of arranging a liaison returned, and it would not be banished. Perhaps Nareen couldn’t
allow herself to be near Saer MacLeod, but she would be a fool not to heed his advice
to leave her position. She had no intention of acting the fool.

With either Abigail or Saer MacLeod.

***

“Saer MacLeod is a beast.”

Abigail was pacing the length of her receiving chamber. Beyond an arched doorway her
huge bed awaited, the flicker of candles dancing over the costly cotton bedsheets.

“I cannae stomach being here any longer,” Abigail wailed. “This banishment from court
is intolerable!”

“It is nae forever,” Nareen offered in a tone that betrayed just how little pity she
had for her mistress. Abigail turned to glare at her, but Nareen offered her no apology.
“It is only a single week longer.”

Abigail huffed. “Yet it is too long. The king is a child! Insisting on virtues and
pious behavior. Just wait, he’ll take a mistress soon enough. Just as soon as his
beard comes in and his cock starts to keep him awake at night.”

Abigail sat down and began to fuss with her letters. She reread them with bright eyes
that glistened with unshed tears.

Nareen’s belly rumbled, but Abigail was absorbed in her own concerns. It afforded
Nareen the chance to slip away. Supper was long finished, and the tables cleared.
Small groups of people lingered in the Hall, enjoying the warmth from the hearth.
Only a few candles remained lit, allowing the night to creep across the space. She
enjoyed the shadows. They offered refuge from those who might seek her out when she
would rather be alone.

Along one side of the Hall, Ross retainers had pulled out their pallets for the night.
These were the younger men, the ones without wives. Each one had his sword resting
beside him, and the portion of his kilt that lay over his shoulder during the day
raised up to cover his head. At some point during the night, they would trade places
with the men standing watch on the walls.

Nareen only peeked into the Hall. The stairs ended at a junction. She could go right
and be in the Great Hall or straight ahead to the armor rooms. Off to her left was
the hallway that would take her to the kitchens. There were large hearths in the Hall
itself for porridge and stews, but most of the cooking was done in the kitchens. They
were built outside to protect the castle from fire. In the summer, it also served
to keep the kitchens from becoming too hot to endure.