Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens (4 page)

M
unn
entered the council chamber and grinned. Maids and
gillies
hurried to
and fro, making ready for the wedding feast that would take place after the
pledging of vows. He was sure the chief was up to the task of bedding the lass
and planting his seed. The third match would be complete. Caitrina would be
free to return to
Tir-nan-Og
—the fae land o’ heart’s desire—and the
MacLachlan clan would be blessed.

He was certain the lass would come around and
pledge her troth to Archibald along with her love. If she continued to refuse,
Caitrina would do something to make the lass change her mind.

Lines furrowed his forehead as his skin started to
itch. Caitrina’s unusual fae scent, a combination of peony, freesia, and
sandalwood perfumed the air before she shimmered into corporal form in front of
him.

“You were wrong,” she said without preamble.

“Dinnae tease.”

“Oonagh returned from the sojourn in Ireland and
provided the players for the last match.”

“Archibald and Isobell,” Munn said. “Admit I was
right.”

“Cannot.”

He frowned. “Then who?”

“Nae concern of yours.” Caitrina faded.

“Wait! You must help with Archibald and Isobell.”

“Not my problem.” And she was gone. Vanished to
another time and place.

Damn Caitrina. Munn huffed. What was he to do?
Archibald and Isobell needed to be matched. ’Twas their destiny.

Munn crossed arms over his chest and scowled. Why
was the lass resisting? Archibald was a man with a full head of hair and
numerous teeth. Did she think she could do better?

Bah!
The chief should drop her into the pit
to linger for a long while. At least until she cowered like a proper wife. Munn
scratched his chin and scoffed. None of the other wives he kenned were
submissive to their men. The Highlanders grew weak. Led around by lasses in
skirts.

He shook his head. ’Twas a damn shame.

Ach, he needed to think. Invisible to the others
in the hall, he paced from the chief’s table to the aumbry, one end of the
council chamber to the other and back, and again.

An argument near the hearth rumbled in the
background. Archibald and the Lamont disagreeing yet again on how to handle
Isobell’s rebellious ways. Another stubborn lass came to mind—Lady Laurie.

Try the wine
. Spontaneous inspiration came
over Munn. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He spun in a circle and
travelled to another part of the castle.

* * *

Isobell pushed against the heavy oak panel again.
When it wouldn’t budge, she kicked it. Pain shot up her leg. She grabbed the
offended foot and hopped back, crumpling onto a pile of grain sacks. Damn
Archibald MacLachlan.

She wrapped arms over her chest in a self-hug. How
long would they leave her in this dark place? Would she give in if they left
her long enough?

Boots sounded on stone. She tensed. Someone with a
heavy foot approached her prison. Perhaps she’d learn her fate soon. The
waiting drove her mad.

The door flew open and slammed against the wall,
making her jerk. She shielded her eyes against the bright light coming from the
torch Archibald held.

“Is it time?” she asked, stomach churning.

“Are you ready to sign the marriage document?”

“Nae.”

“Then tell me the names of your accomplices. The
ones who tried to kill you in the wood.”

“Just some men I met in the forest.”

He exhaled a gusty breath. “And, as strangers,
they invited a lone woman to join their merry band of thieves instead of
deflowering her?”

She inwardly cringed, but shrugged for Archibald’s
benefit. He could ask as often as he wanted, but she would never reveal the
lad’s identities.

“Isobell, tell me who else was involved in the
raid.”

She remained silent.

“For all that is holy, Isobell, they tried to kill
you.”

He was right. Her men had turned against her.
Maclay probably commanding it. He didn’t want his secret revealed. Still she
wouldn’t give them up.

“Fine. Agree to marry me and I will forget your
part in the raid.”

“You will never forget.”

He sighed heavily. “I will return shortly, I
expect you to sign the contract.”

Left in darkness again, Isobell quelled the desire
to have a good cry. A scratching noise, probably a rat, made her jump. Still,
this cell was better than the pit.

An unnatural light suddenly illuminated the cell.
A wee man with a bewhiskered brown face, a mere three feet tall, spun in a
circle, stopping in the center of the small chamber. Isobell blinked several
times in surprise. The man grasped the waist of the baggy brown leather
trews
he wore and yanked them up while puffing out his chest as men often are wont to
do, then wiped his big hands on a fine woolen
leine
.

“And you are?” Isobell smiled, forgetting the
moment of fright, guessing the identity of the man by the large crystal brooch
holding a
brat
in place around his shoulders.

“My name is Munn.” Unusual blue-green eyes
sparkled. He swept the funny looking, pointed, green cap from his head,
displaying pointed ears, and bowed with a flourish. “Have you never heard of
me?”

“Aye. You are the MacLachlan clan brownie.”

“True enough. Brought something for you to drink.”
He handed over a goblet of wine.

“Why?”

“’Tis wrong of the chief to lock you away down
here in the dark bowels of the keep without food or drink.”

She eyed the wine, and then the man with
suspicion. Why would Archibald’s wee man offer her kindness?

“Does something trouble you, lass?” Munn asked.

“Nae.” She inhaled the fruity bouquet, took a sip,
and smiled.

The wine was delicious. The best she’d ever tasted.
She sipped a wee bit more, and then some more. Warmth spread through her,
making her feel achy and needy. Where was Archie when she wanted him?

* * *

Archibald paced from the hearth in his study to the
writing table and back. Isobell’s father sat in one of the chairs before the
fire, the priest in another. Neither seemed concerned over Isobell’s reticence.
Both imbibed in a taste of Archibald’s finest claret.

“Ease be with you, lad.” Lamont chuckled. “She
will come to her senses.”

Archibald glowered at the man and continued
pacing. Moments later, he was relieved to be disturbed by a knock at the door.
When he opened the oak panel, he found one of the guards from the cellar
shifting weight from one leg to the other, staring anywhere but at him.

“What is it?” Archibald demanded.

“The lass.”

“Aye?”

“Ach, well…” He tilted his head and frowned.
“She’s singing.”

“Aye?”

“Merrily.”

“Singing? Merrily?”

“Aye, Chief.”

What could the lass be about? Archibald brushed
past the guard, took the stairs two at a time, uncaring his shoulders scraped
against rough stone, down to the basement and to the storage cell where Isobell
remained confined. He hoped.

Sure enough, she was singing.
Merrily
. A
ribald song about a couple of drunken warriors and a tavern wench. Loud enough
to be heard through the heavy, roughhewn door. What else had the lass learned
during her sojourn as a thief? He grabbed a torch from one of the guards, edged
open the door, and peered in.

Isobell swayed from side to side with the melody
of the song, one of the goblets from the council chamber held loose in one
hand. She leapt into his arms and hugged him tight, goblet dangling from her
fingers. “Archie, I have missed you so verra much.”

“Have you, lass?” He raised an eyebrow, chuckled,
wary. What was she up to?

“When is the wedding?” she demanded.

Fearing he might burn the armful of woman clinging
to him, he handed the torch to a guard whose round-eyed look almost made
Archibald laugh aloud.

“Are you drunk, lass?”

“Nae. Just happy we are finally together.”

“What made you change your mind?” he asked in a
soft voice as if dealing with a timid foal. He held her at arm’s length, trying
to discover if she played him for a fool.

Isobell wrinkled her brow in a most comely way. He
wanted to kiss her, but first needed to understand what provoked the drastic
change of heart.

“Why do you ask such a silly question? I have not
changed my mind.”

“Earlier, you refused to wed with me.”

“You must be mistaken. ’Twas Patrick I dinnae wish
to wed. I have always wanted to be your wife.” Her smile melted all the ice
within Archibald’s chest, but still...

Uncertainty plagued him.

Did the why of it matter? Not really. The important
thing was she was more than willing to say the vows. It would be in his best
interest to bring her in front of the priest before she changed her mind yet
again.

I
sobell
inhaled the scent of lavender and appreciated its tranquil effect. She
luxuriated in a hot bath afore a glowing fire in Archie’s bedchamber. Soon to
be her bedchamber too. She felt the smile on her lips all the way to her toes.
She reached toward the nearby table where her goblet sat, but couldn’t quite
reach.

“Here, let me get that for you.” Aine spread the
silver wedding gown over the furs on the mattress of the big bed with its deep
blue velvet curtains and scurried to the table then handed Isobell the wine.
“Dinnae drink too much, though a wee bit will ease your nerves.”

“Thank you, you are too kind.”

Aine smiled, then made busy with preparations.

Isobell never thought to wear silver to her
wedding, but the embroidered gown belonged to Archie’s stepmother Mairi. Aine
claimed he’d be pleased to see her wear the dress. Besides the color would look
lovely with the blood-red rubies he promised as a wedding gift. She was the
luckiest woman in Scotland. Tonight was her night.

And Archie’s evening too, of course.

She glanced at the bed, supposing she should be
nervous about the bedding. A thrill ran through her. Archie would be gentle.

“Ready, lass? You dinnae want your skin to
wrinkle.” Aine assisted her from the tub, and with a chambermaid, fussed over
patting her dry with large cloths. They dropped a soft chemise over her head
and sat her in a chair to let the heat from the fire dry her long hair.

Isobell sipped carefully from the goblet Archie’s
wee man gave her so not to spill. Delicious. She’d need to ask Archie where he
procured such a fine vintage. They should put some aside for when Jamie
visited. The king would be much impressed.

The maid braided Isobell’s hair, threading silky
ribbons of silver and red through the ebony locks, creating a lovely coiffure.
Donning the satin gown, she shivered. Not from unease but excitement.

She stepped to one of the windows on the courtyard
side of the chamber. Torches in sconces on the outside walls illuminated the
falling snow. Much heavier than earlier in the day.

Where had that thought come from? Isobell frowned.
She didn’t recall seeing snow earlier in the day. With the effort to remember,
her head started throbbing.

“Are you all right?” Aine placed a hand on her
sleeve with the gentlest of touches.

The woman’s honest concern eased Isobell; she
turned away from the window and all troubling thoughts. “I am fine.”

“Well, all young brides are nervous.” Aine’s smile
was genuine, so different than the servants at Da’s keep.

Another twinge of pain, but she breathed through
the discomfort and decided ’twould be best not to think too much.

A manly knock at the door made her stomach
flutter. Though only for a moment.

She took one last sip from the goblet, placed it
on the mantel, and hurried across the chamber, stopping when Aine raised a
hand, then slowed the pace to a more demure walk, ready to greet her future
husband and all it entailed.

“Ready?” he asked when she greeted him.

More ready than he need ken.

He struck a fine-looking figure in his saffron
leine
and
plaide
of red and green. Archibald rubbed both hands down the length
or the wool as if uncertain of her answer.

“Aye.” She reached up to run a finger through a
curl of his chestnut hair. Silver eyes flared and a lovely smile curved his
lips. The cleft in his chin all the more obvious.

“You look lovely, dearling.” He clasped her
fingers, brought them to his lips, and feathered a tender kiss over them.
“Shall we?”

She wondered at his arched eyebrow. Did he worry
she’d refuse?

“Of course,” she said.

Archibald placed her hand on his arm and together
they approached the circular stair. He descended first, providing a barrier
against a fall in the event she slipped.

Down two flights, and into the family chapel where
her mouth dropped open in awe. Candles bathed the chamber in radiance. Golden
light leapt and flickered, causing shadows to dance upon the walls. Rich
incense drew her forward. Da and the priest waited at the altar.

Faerie wings fluttered in her belly as she crossed
the chamber, Archie at her side. She would soon be his wife.

“You have made the right decision, Isobell.” Her
father slid sheaths of parchment across the altar.

Archibald placed an inked quill in her hand. She
held the quill poised over the wedding contract and glanced up. All three men
stared expectantly.

Archibald watched Isobell with something akin to
fear. Would she sign? Or was her changed behavior a ploy of sorts?

She scratched the point over the parchment and
finished the signature with a curly embellishment. Archibald released a breath
and added his name to the document, dripped wax upon the page, and applied his
seal. Isobell’s father did the same, as did the priest.

Thank the good Lord, the deed was done. All that
remained were the vows.

Archibald inclined his head toward the guard at
the door. Shortly thereafter, family and closest retainers entered and circled
the bride and groom to witness the ceremony.

The priest bade them kneel. Archibald assisted
Isobell then dropped beside her. She gazed at him with a look of such love that
amazement stole his breath.

Her actions made little sense. He wouldn’t
complain though. She was giving him what he wanted.
Be careful of what you
desire. You may receive more than anticipated
. His father’s warning from
childhood flashed through his mind, and he swallowed uneasily.

Archibald startled when the priest cleared his
throat. “Are you ready?”

An abrupt nod to the priest, and the man began
reading from a prayer book, though Archibald barely heard the words, too
obsessed with morose thoughts. He said the proper responses when bade and
listened to Isobell recite her vows.

Relief washed over him and he gave into the urge
to lift Isobell and swing her in a circle when the priest named them chief and
lady-wife. He gently set her on her feet and kissed her soundly.

Those in attendance whooped and hollered. Several
moments later, he and Isobell entered the council chamber to cheers, the clan
welcoming their new mistress.

Thankfully, they didn’t ken her sins.

With a palm cradling her back, Archibald escorted
Isobell through the throng of clansmen to the high table. He didn’t want to
fall under her spell because of the circumstances that brought them to this
day, but her lavender scent—a gift he’d given her—was intoxicating. He leaned
close to her neck and inhaled the womanly fragrance.

She laughed softly, and he kissed exposed skin.

A hoot rose from the crowd.

Several others joined them on the dais, the Lamont
seated to his right. The man leaned in close. “You best hurry and get her
bedded and breeding.”

Archibald tightened his fist but fought an urge to
punch his new father-in-law in the face. He might be at odds with Isobell, but
the man had no right to be crude at her wedding. Rather than create an uproar
Archibald let the slight pass.

Musicians entered, set up on a raised platform,
and tuned their instruments.

Isobell patted his leg. “We are expected to
partake of the first dance.”

They rose and performed a ring dance with others
from both clans. Moving away, and then returning to Isobell, Archibald marveled
at her display of genuine happiness. She laughed and joked and swirled with the
other dancers as if having nae care in the world. As if, just days before, she
hadn’t participated in a cattle raid against him. And spit in his face.
Absurd
.

She seemed to have forgotten everything that
happened over the last year. It was as if they had stepped back in time to when
they first fell in love. A chill snaked over his spine.

He didn’t like thinking of time travel.

The remainder of the evening became a blur of
celebration. Before the crowd became too raucous from drink, Archibald swirled
Isobell across the oak flooring toward the steps to the upper level so he could
whisk her away to their bedchamber unnoticed. He hoped to bolt the door before
revelers joined them to witness the official consummation of their marriage.

He preferred that moment be private.

He captured her hand and she giggled as they
climbed the dim circular stairs. The music and revelry faded. Without stopping,
they raced to the bedchamber and fell, laughing, into chairs afore the fire.

Then they both quieted. The moment Archibald had
waited for so long was finally upon them. Would she be a willing mate or had
she been playing a role this night?

She coyly gazed from beneath ebony lasses and
moistened her lips. His cock jerked in response as if she controlled the thing
with a string.

Would he ever forgive her part—though he believed
it trivial—in the raid?

He cleared his throat. “Let us not harbor thoughts
of troubling events from our past, even if only for this night.” He clasped her
hand and held it over his heart.

She tilted her head to the side and her brow
wrinkled, as if trying to understand. Then her lips curved into a smile filled
with, could he hope, love. “If that is your wish, then ’tis my desire also.”

He nodded. From the pouch at his belt, he withdrew
a leather wrapped package. He dropped to a knee in front of Isobell and
presented the wedding gift.

Her eyes misted as he placed the treasure into her
trembling hand. She opened the package to reveal the ruby ring, with its large
gemstone, he’d had made for her, years ago, when he prayed she’d someday become
his bride.

Isobell smiled though showed little excitement.
She’d kenned of the ring from the beginning. “Thank you, husband.”

He’d had other gifts made too. Ones she didn’t ken
about. With the tenuous circumstances surrounding their marriage, he’d keep
those locked away until—

Better to think pleasant thoughts tonight.

“Would you care for some wine?” he asked.

“Nae.” Her gaze landed on the bed then returned to
him. “I would prefer to remember this night with a clear head. But first…” From
a pocket sewn into a seam of the wedding gown materialized a small packet,
which Isobell handed over with a shy smile. “I also have a gift for you,
husband
.”

He liked the way her voice emphasized the word.
Perhaps they could make their marriage work. Accepting the gift, he carefully
removed the wrapping. His eyes widened when a large ruby dropped into his lap.
He stared at it for a might too long, swallowed hard, and then looked at
Isobell.

She blessed him with a radiant smile.

“Thank you,” he said, at a loss for other words.

“’Tis for the cross section of your claymore.”

“Aye, I will be the envy of every warrior.”

“And the target of many a thief.”

Her nonchalant comment sobered Archibald. He’d
added a new layer of complexity to his already-complicated life by marrying a
woman who might possibly want to do him harm.

He sighed, stood, and reached out a hand. He led
her to the bed where he undid the ties of her gown, allowing it to pool at her
feet. The translucent chemise brought attention to the fullness of her breasts.
She quickly covered them with trembling hands, hiding the desired bounty.

A chill slithered over Archibald’s skin along with
a foul thought—had she been with another man or, worse, raped?

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“Oh, nae.” She shook her head adamantly.

Relief near made him giddy. He raised her chin
with a finger. “Look into my eyes. Trust me.”

She complied, and he held her gaze while removing
the hands that concealed the delectable feast from which he wished to partake
and spread her arms to the side and clasped her hands. With an ache of yearning
long harbored, he leaned in and sucked first one pebbled nipple through the
cloth, then the other.

Isobell whimpered and swayed. “Ah, Archie?”

His heart jerked with pleasure. It was the first
time she called him by his nickname since her capture. With as gentle a touch
as he could muster, he slid the chemise over her head and eased her to the
mattress where he dined on her bounty to the loveliest sounds a woman could
make—moans of pleasure.

When the first waves of passion passed, Archibald
removed his
plaide
and
leine
. Isobell watched his every move, a
small smile gracing her moist lips. His cock jerked, and he rushed to rejoin
her on the bed, more than glad the long wait was almost over. Raised on
forearms, leaning over her, he studied her face. Rosy cheeks from the scratch of
his whiskers, an impertinent nose, expressive violet eyes softened from their
loving, and ebony eyebrows arched in question.

“You ken there may be discomfort?”

She answered with a hasty nod.

He stroked a finger along her soft cheek, along
the front of her neck, and over a firm breast to linger on a pert nipple. She
sucked in a sharp breath and arched her back, encouraging him to continue
exploring. He splayed both hands on her flat belly, moved one between her legs,
and teased her to a fevered pitch. When fragrant cream coated his fingers, he
eased between her thighs and, edging within the slick folds, entered heaven.
She stilled. “Easy, Lass.”

“I am fine. More than fine.”

The fit was tight. He moved slowly, hoping to only
inflict minimal pain. As their bodies adjusted, she moved with him. Slow and
gentle. When he hit the barrier of her maidenhead—thank the good Lord she was
still a virgin—he thrust.

He captured her scream with an open-mouthed kiss.

His orgasm shot him to the stars. Pleasure so
intense, he yelled Isobell’s name.