Torrian (The Highland Clan Book 2) (17 page)

“We all support you completely, son, and I am grateful I will not need to call the Buchans family.” He moved from around the desk, pulled Torrian out of the chair and hugged him. “Nicely done.”

“But I thought…” Torrian found himself speechless.

“Now get yourself ready to travel. We’re headed to Edinburgh to speak to our king, and I think it would be best if we leave Heather behind. We’ll depart on the morrow.”

“But you are not angry that I may have possibly caused a battle?”

“Your aunt and uncle have worked for the king for years. I doubt he’d accuse you of treason. Now, I do not doubt that the Buchans may choose to attack us in some underhanded way nor do I doubt that the marriage was clearly a power ploy for them anyway, but I also expect the mere prospect of an attack will bring a score or more Grant warriors out of the deep Highlands. There’s naught they love more. Brodie, Jake, Jamie, and Kenzie are already headed home, and my guess is they wish to bring the details to Alex Grant. Your uncle Alex does not favor unrest.”

“Why not send a messenger?”

“No one knows the Highlands better than the Grant brothers. Uncle Brodie will be on Grant land before I get my group to Edinburgh. I promise you that they will be back.”

Nothing could have surprised Torrian more.

Chapter Nineteen

Heather waited in her chamber until later in the night. She was pacing the small space when Torrian finally returned.

“What happened?” She was so afraid for him, for them.

“The Buchans have left, headed to Edinburgh to report to our king, then they will head home to gather their forces and return.”

“And your family?” How she prayed they would eventually support their union. She knew Lily, Brenna, and Gwyneth did, for they’d all told her so. But she knew how important it was to Torrian for his sire to stand behind him.

“We have my sire’s complete support.”

“We do?”

He laughed, “Aye, we do, my sire and all my family. They all hated the Buchans. However, my sire has ordered me to go to Edinburgh with him, and he’s asked that we leave you here.”

“I think that is wise. I’ll stay with Nellie. If all I have to do is wait until you return from Edinburgh, I am happy to do that.” She leaned in to kiss him, devouring his lips and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He ended the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. “Why wait?”

Torrian had a gleam in his eyes she’d learned to love already. “What? What are you suggesting?”

He knelt down in front of her and took her hand in his. “Heather Preston, would you do me the honor of marrying me and becoming my wife this night?”

She hopped in place twice and blurted, “Aye, Aye. Torrian, I love you. Wait, what? Tonight? How could we possible do it tonight? Does your sire not want the king’s blessing for our marriage?”

He stood up, kissed her, and took her hands in his. “Aye, probably, but I was thinking we could visit Father Rab tonight. I’d prefer to marry you before I leave on the morrow. Come, follow me. We’ll talk to Father Rab. Have you met him yet?”

“Nay, I have not.”

He took her hand and led her through the courtyard, which was basically deserted at this hour. It was late, but he knew Father Rab stayed up late. They’d built him a beautiful chapel after he came to live with them, his grandmama had insisted.

Once inside the charming stone building, they crept up the aisle to the front of the chapel, and Torrian held his hand out to Heather, inviting her to kneel with him. “I said many prayers as a bairn, and they were answered, and now He’s brought you to me, so I’d like to thank Him for a moment.”

Heather was astounded at the depth of this man who was to be her husband. She knelt beside him onto the soft cushions sewn by the clan, noting the beauty of the carefully tended altar—the chalices, the thick leather-bound book, the cloths sewn with dainty hands, and the exquisite wooden cross above the altar.

A few moments later, a voice echoed beside them. “You’ve come at an unusual time, nephew. Is there aught I can do to help you?”

Torrian smiled at his uncle, pulling him into a hug, and then introduced him to Heather. Father Rab was a small man, but he did look like Gwyneth. The kindness in his eyes was so inviting. “I do not mean to interrupt your time of prayer, lad. Please come to my chamber when you’ve finished.”

Torrian said, “I’m finished. We’ve come to talk to you, Father. We’d like to marry.”

“Och, I expected that was to come soon. Please follow me and we’ll sit at my table.”

Father Rab led them through a doorway to his chambers in the back. The first chamber held a table in the center, and shelving along either side of the large hearth. Heather could see that his bed sat in the back chamber with another hearth along the back wall. It was a well-kept space, with fresh rushes on the floor.

“Sit down, please. I’ll get some mead.” He grabbed three goblets and set them on the table.

He moved slowly, for the stiffness of the joints common for elders had already settled in his joints, but that lively glitter in his eyes seemed ever present.

“Torrian, you’ve chosen a fine lass to be your wife, I see, and I’m honored that you’ve asked me to marry you. I would like to comply, but…”

“Aye, Father?” Torrian leaned toward his uncle.

Heather held her breath, so afraid they were about to be refused. How could this sweet priest turn them down? Was their love not evident? Was it because the others in the family were not present?

“Please, lad, I prefer the title uncle in these chambers.” He turned to Heather. “The title uncle is one of my most cherished titles. Torrian honors me by using it, though I’m not his blood uncle. Gwyneth is my only sibling, and I have been blessed by her bairns, and I count myself grateful that Brenna and Quade’s bairns call me uncle as well.”

“Uncle Rab? You were saying?”

Heather squeezed Torrian’s hand under the table, gripping him too tight, she was certain.

“Aye. Allow me to continue. ‘Twould be my honor to marry you once you return from Edinburgh, but I must deny you now.”

Torrian’s brow furrowed as he glanced at Heather. “But why must we wait? My sire? Uncle Logan? Who has told you to refuse us?”

“Torrian, aye, your father and uncle have both spoken with me about waiting. You know I would risk my place here as priest if I were to go against the king’s orders. As you know, the laird speaks for the king.”

“Torrian.” Heather peeked at him. “We cannot ask him to risk his assignment here. ‘Twould not be right.”

He nodded his agreement. “Mayhap you are correct. Uncle, I accept your provisions. But please promise to marry us on my return?”

“Aye, I would be honored, lad.”

“There’s more, is there not? Someone else has requested for us to wait?”

Father Rab sighed, his hands moving into prayer form in front of his face. “There is a reason I am not at liberty to explain. This person’s concern is for Heather, not you. My belief is that it is in both of your best interests to wait. I have prayed for guidance in this matter, and I believe I am doing what the Lord would want me to do. The Lord tells me you will marry and live a wonderful life together, but it must wait.”

Silence settled between them. Heather could not imagine who else had asked him to postpone their marriage. There could only be one person, and the thought made her stomach turn.

Nellie’s father.

***

The Ramsay contingency met in Edinburgh two days later, and quite a contingency it was. Quade and Logan had both acquiesced to their wives, who had feared leaving their bairns at home in case the Buchans posed an attack while they were away. Of course, Quade prided himself in having enough warriors to leave his home well-guarded in his absence, so he gave in only because he suspected they all wished to attend the royal castle.

So Quade and Brenna brought Torrian, Lily, Bethia, Gregor, and Jennet, while Logan and Gwyneth brought Maggie, Molly, Sorcha, Gavin, and Brigid. The wee ones were excited to be traveling together to the royal castle, and had promised to be on their best behavior.

Edinburgh castle was one of the most regal of all, sitting atop a huge hill. From a distance, the top of the towers appeared to touch the sky. They arrived near dusk, and the torches lighting up the parapets and the path to the castle made the place appear magical.

As they made their way from the courtyard to the stables, a booming voice sounded from outside the gates. “Greetings, Ramsays. How do you all fare?”

A chorus of “Uncle Micheil!” rang out and the bairns rushed him all at once, causing him to explode into laughter as he dismounted his horse. His eldest son David was traveling with him.

“How are Diana and Daniel?” Brenna asked Micheil.

“They are well, though Diana does have her breathing problems that set her abed occasionally. ‘Twas a rough winter, but she is better every day.”

Quade said, “Why do we not go inside? ‘Tis late, and I’d like to get the bairns settled. Then we’ll have an ale and talk.”

Micheil grasped both of Torrian’s shoulders from behind. “Will you ever stop growing taller, lad? You started slow, but it seems you have caught up.”

Torrian replied, “I have not grown any taller.”

“Still, it does my heart good to see the size of you after the tough start you had in life. And now you wish to marry, but not before you stir up a wee bit of trouble, aye?” he teased him.

“If the Buchans are already here, then you’ll see tomorrow ‘tis not just a wee bit.”

They headed into the great hall, and the king came down from his dais, his guards surrounding him, to greet them. They noticed the Buchans sat at the far end of the hall, but the king ordered the guards to keep the groups separated.

King Alexander said, “While I’d like to say I’m pleased to see you all, I admit I’m discouraged by everything I’ve been told. For the young ones here, we have some minstrels coming to entertain you. For the rest of you, I’ll be speaking to you in my chambers before I make my final decision.” He held his hand up to beckon to one of the servants. A woman rushed over. “Ena, please see the lassies and the lads settled in the bairns’ wing for the night while I speak with my chieftains.”

“Of course, my king. Come this way, wee ones.”

Jennet ran up to the king. “Wait, please.” She held her hand up to him. “My king, may I see your hand?”

Quade said, “Jennet, do not bother King Alexander.”

The king chuckled and waved his hand in dismissal before he held it down to the wee lassie. “Nay, she is no trouble, Chief Ramsay. I’m quite curious to see what the healer’s daughter wishes.” He held his hand down for her inspection.

Jennet studied his hand closely, turning it one way and then the other, flexing his fingers. Torrian noticed that Brenna was holding her hand in front of her mouth to hide a wee smile. “My king, on the morrow, if ‘twould please you, I’d like to apply some ointment for the stiffness you have in your hand. I also have some salve to place on that cut. We cannot afford to have the leader of the Scots turn feverish from such a wee cut.” She stepped back, her usual serious expression in place, and awaited his answer.

The king’s eyes danced in delight, but then his gaze fell to his hand. “You have an ointment that can help the soreness in my hand?” He flexed his fingers as if to test their ease of movement.

“Aye, I believe the soreness will ease after a few applications.”

“Verra well. ‘Twould please me if you and your mother would tend to my hand in the morning. I will send for you. Now go enjoy your chamber. I have goat’s milk and berry tarts for you.”

Jennet’s eyes lit up, and she did a deep curtsy before strolling off to follow Ena.

Brenna mouthed, “My thanks.” Brenna and Gwyneth slipped off with Ena to get the bairns settled.

“Gentlemen, as you can see, the Buchans are here and have told me much. I’d like to see you all in my solar to allow Torrian to give me his reasons for defying my order, and I will make my final decree on the morrow. I prefer to sleep before passing judgments, especially one of such magnitude.”

Torrian followed the others into the solar, suddenly realizing the full ramifications of his decision. He had one chance to convince his king he was correct in his assessment of the Buchans. He prayed the man had an open mind.

Quade, Logan, and Micheil stood at the periphery of the room while Torrian stood directly in front of the king. The king’s solar was rich with tapestries on the wall, and a threaded rug covered the area under their feet. A large hearth sat on the outside wall, decorated on both sides with gold candlesticks holders. The chamber was brighter at night than the outdoors in day. The desk was twice the size of Quade’s and had ornate scrolls around the edges.

Torrian was so impressed with his surroundings that he did not quite know where to look.

The king took a seat and held out his arms. “Please begin, son. I’d like to hear your reasons for defying my decree before I have you tossed in chains.”

An unsettled feeling coursed through him, something that felt a lot like doubt. How he wished his father or his Uncle Logan would speak for him, but he knew what was expected of him.

“Your pardon, my king.” He linked his hands behind his back and stood with his feet planted slightly apart. “I have refused Davina Buchan because of the deceit she committed the last night you were at the Ramsay keep. I did not defile the lass, nor have I ever defiled a lass. My heritage is that I am expected to take over as chieftain of the Ramsays when my father is no longer able. That also means that my sons will be chieftains for the Scottish crown. I feel ‘tis not in the Scots’ best interest to have such trickery in our bloodlines.”

The king steepled his fingers, his elbows planted on the desk in front of him. “Have you not forgotten that I was there when that transpired? I have already passed my judgment on that incident, in fact, ‘twas a major factor in my decision to order you to marry. Davina is a beautiful lass. Lads tend to be randy, and I do not fault you for being a wee bit excited about taking what was to be your right, but you cannot back out of the agreement now.”

“But it did not happen.” Torrian’s chest tightened in fear, his thoughts muddled in his brain. There had to be something else he could say to convince the man.

“Lad, I saw the blood, still damp, on the linens. You cannot deny that.”

Torrian opened his mouth, then closed it. He hung his head in shame, not because he was guilty, but because he was failing to defend himself properly. His brain had simply stopped functioning.