Caelen's Wife - the Complete Collection (25 page)

Only one obstacle stood in his way and it came in the form of a wee lass with dark hair and brown eyes, which, after closer inspection from their earlier fall on the stairs, had little flecks of gold in them. Nola.

“I do no’ understand why ye’d risk yer leg, if no’ yer life by traipsin’ all that way when ye could just as easily send a messenger.” She was standing between him and the door, her feet firmly planted, her determination resolute.

“Nola, I do appreciate your concern on the matter,” he tried explaining his reasoning to her, but she cut him off.

“Nay, fer if ye did appreciate me advice or me concern, ye’d get back in that bed and stay there.”

“Nola, I be neither yer prisoner nor yer hostage. I do no’ need yer permission to do anythin’, now please, step aside and let me pass.”

She continued to stare up at him and refused to move aside.

“Nola, this be far too important a matter to leave to a mere messenger. Me sister’s entire future be at stake.”

“Ye do no’ ken
why
she be marryin’ the man, so why do ye feel ye must stop her? Ye make no sense.”

He was growing frustrated with her obstinance. ’Twas truly none of her business why he was doing what he was doing.

“Nola, I’ll no’ stand her any longer wastin’ valuable time tryin’ to get ye to understand me reasons fer goin’. Me sister loves Caelen and he loves her and right now, that be all that matters.”

As if that somehow made sense, her full pink lips formed an ‘o’ shape and sudden understanding lit in her eyes. “Ye be a romantic. I would never have guessed that about ye, Brodie McCray,” she said as if she were greatly impressed with him. She stepped aside then, to let him pass.

“Thank ye, Nola,” he said, relieved she’d given up on the idea of trying to stop him.

“I hope ye will be able to find ye a sweet, kind woman to marry someday.”

Believing she’d just offered an olive branch, Brodie smiled and bowed. “I thank ye kindly, Nola. And I wish fer ye a kind, good man someday.”

She smiled sweetly. “Hopefully that sweet kind woman will no’ care that yer missin’ a leg.”

’Twas quite difficult to maintain his composure when the woman seemed hell-bent on infuriating him. He could have said any number of mean-spirited, spiteful, or rude things. Instead, he surprised even himself, by going to her and leaning in so close to her, that he could see her pulse throbbing happily in the vein of her very delicate neck.

“Trust me, lass. My wife will no’ care about a missin’ leg, fer I’ll be too busy pleasin’ her in our marital bed.”

He pulled away to see her wide eyed and stunned, he believed, due to his provocative statement. Just before he left the room, he bowed graciously and smiled deviously. ’Twas the first time since he’d met her that she’d been speechless.

P
hillip needed very
little convincing from Brodie that someone needed to inform Caelen of the banns. Within an hour of receiving the news, Brodie was on his way to the MacDougall keep, with fifteen McDunnah men. While Brodie road east, Phillip made plans to leave for McPherson lands in two days time. He had one simple order; if Brodie and Caelen had not arrived at the McPherson keep before the wedding began, Phillip was to delay it by any means necessary.

As he watched Brodie and the other men leave, Phillip sent up a silent prayer. He seriously doubted he’d be able to keep Fiona McPherson from doing anything.

T
he entire McPherson
keep was a whirlwind of excitement as they prepared for the wedding between Fiona and Bhruic. The kitchen was abuzz with people chatting excitedly as they made all manner of baked goods, meats, fruits — another meal fit for a king.

Fiona, however, was unable to find within herself even an inkling of good cheer. The best she could do was paint a smile on her face to hide the misery in her heart.

Everything she now did was for the betterment and safety of her clan. She would gain nothing from this marriage other than the sense of security in knowing she would have more than one hundred additional skilled fighting men and the chance to call Bhruic’s daughter hers.

After signing the agreement and posting the banns, Fiona merely went through the motions of pretending she cared one whit about any of it. She allowed Isabelle and Mairi to make all the arrangements. The only caveat was that they could not spend all the gold in their coffers. Other than that, her sisters-in-law were given free-rein to choose everything from the food that would be served to the gown she would wear.

While the days might have flown by for everyone else, they trudged on for Fiona at a snail’s pace. Sleep evaded her as if she were the devil incarnate. On those rare occasions when she did manage to doze off, her dreams were plagued with images of Caelen or Bridgett or Stephan and Mildred, and if not any of them, the two children left behind.

The day before the wedding finally arrived and she could find no peace within the walls of her keep. The air was stifling, the clamor and excitement of her people preparing for a wedding roared in her ears. No matter which room she tried to hide away in, someone would come running with a multitude of questions for which she either had no answer or simply didn’t care.

With the noise and commotion at a fevered pitch, Fiona had reached the end of her patience. Donning a cloak, she attempted to make her way through the front of the keep. As soon as people realized she was present, they swarmed like bees around a hive. “Ask Mairi or Isabelle,” was her pat response to any question thrown her way.

In the end, she could reach neither the front door nor the back without being barraged with questions or well-wishes. After several failed attempts, she did the only sensible thing remaining. She went to her study, barred the door, and slipped out through the window. Unfortunately her study was on the main floor and there was no hope for a long fall that would break her neck. She escaped through the window without so much as a scratch.

Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she stealthily made her way around the side of the keep and headed for her mountain. ’Twas her fervent hope that no one would think to look for her there. And if they did, she had the option of jumping to her death. ’Twould be worth it just for a few moments of peace and solitude.

Keeping to the outer wall, she made her way to the stones that her people had been using for centuries to climb
Sidh Chailleann.
The going was not nearly as treacherous as she would have preferred on this solemn day before her wedding. The rain had stayed away and the sun was doing a fine job at keeping the earth warm and dry. What she wouldn’t give for a torrential storm, a bolt of lightning, a huge gust of wind.

Mayhap all the stories of brownies and fairies her mother had plied her with in her youth were true and one of them would appear to take her away. Nay, she realized, she was not that lucky.

She made her way to the very ledge she had shared with Caelen weeks ago. She sat, as she had then, with her feet dangling over the edge, and looked down upon her home. Too many people to count flittered about below. The MacKinnons hadn’t left since the day they had arrived to arrange the marriage. Whilst Edgar was given a room indoors, the rest of his people made camp inside and outside the walls.

Yesterday, MacElroy the Arrogant had arrived along with dozens of his people. The McGregors followed not long after. The McKenzies and Farquars were due to arrive later. She prayed they’d all be thoughtful and bring their own food, the greedy sots.

“Ye’ve got to pull yerself out of this, Fiona,” she murmured aloud. Didn’t people say that one of the first signs someone had lost their mind was when they began to talk to themselves? “Ye canna continue on this morose path, all sullen and full of despair. Ye knew when ye took yer oath that someday ye’d have to face some verra difficult decisions. Ye knew ye might have to sacrifice yer own happiness for the good of yer clan.”

Knowing the possibilities existed was nothing compared to actually having to live through them.

There was nothing to be done for it. Tomorrow she would don whatever monstrously revealing gown Isabelle and Mairi had come up with and she would walk into their wee kirk and exchange vows with Bhruic MacKinnon. She would do it with grace and dignity. She would do it for her clan.

W
hen she dared not risk staying
any longer, Fiona carefully made her way down the mountain and back inside the walls of her keep. After chastising herself for behaving so poorly — for it was, after all her own decision to marry Bhruic — she felt marginally better.

She would marry Bhruic, but her heart would always belong to Caelen. In it, tucked away and hidden, she would keep her love for Caelen burning bright and strong, but only she’d be aware of it.

As she walked along the walls of her keep, she prayed that Caelen would understand her dilemma and not hate her for her decision. But she would not blame him if he chose to hate her and despise her every day for the rest of his life. He had earned that right, she supposed, to hate her vehemently for breaking his heart and marrying another. If their roles were reversed she imagined she’d probably want to hate him if he married another.

She was almost to the keep when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Bhruic as he made his way into the stables. That did not give her pause so much as the fact that Alyse followed him in only a moment later.

‘Twasn’t jealousy that made her veer away from the keep and toward the stables, but curiosity. She knew Alyse better than she knew Bhruic. Mayhap her instinct from the other night was correct, that Alyse had feelings for the man.

Ignoring the people she passed, Fiona made her way to the stables and peeked inside to mayhap catch a glimpse of her betrothed and his potential lover. Little bits of dust danced in the sunlight, the aroma of hay and horses filtered outside, but that was all that Fiona could make out. She looked up and down the stables but saw nothing but horses peering out over the doors. Straining her ears to listen, to hear over the occasional nicker or stomp of a hoof, she finally heard the low muffled voices coming from the stable master’s private room to her right. The door stood slightly ajar, so she tiptoed toward it.

’Twas Bhruic and Alyse she heard, but their voices were low and muffled. Alyse was crying, but Fiona could only make out every few words. It sounded as though Bhruic was trying to comfort the poor woman.

“Wheesht, Alyse,” Bhruic whispered.

Fiona could not hear what Alyse said next for her voice was so soft and low, but she could reason out that the woman was mightily heartbroken.

“I would change things,” Bhruic whispered, then murmured something inaudible. “I have no choice … I love ye, Alyse, ye ken that …”

Fiona’s heart suddenly felt quite constricted. Not once had she thought to ask Bhruic if there was another that he might love. She had not stopped to ask him what sacrifice he might be making. She’d only thought of all that she was giving up.

Unable to listen to the heartbreaking sobs coming from Alyse or Bhruic’s attempts to console her, Fiona quietly slipped away.

F
iona did
something she rarely did. She sought the counsel of her sisters-in-law. They had been in the kitchens, arguing with the cook over the meal he had planned for the wedding feast. She pulled the two women away with a lie that she wanted to try her gown on. Happily, they followed her above stairs and into her bedchamber. As soon as they were inside, Fiona bolted the door.

“I need to speak with ye,” Fiona said. “But I need ye to promise ye’ll no’ say what ye
think
I want to hear, but rather what yer heart tells ye.”

Isabelle and Mairi stared at her, perplexed, but nodded in silent agreement.

“Ye ken that I do no’ love Bhruic,” she began. “But I have just learned somethin’regardin’ Bhruic and Alyse, that I fear changes everythin’ about tomorrow.”

Her sisters-in-law looked genuinely concerned, but waited for her to explain.

“I fear that Bhruic and Alyse love one another. Poor Alyse is heartbroken.”

“Ye’ve talked to her?” Mairi asked.

Fiona shook her head, “Nay, but I’ve just overheard the two of them together, in the stables. Alyse was in tears, just a sobbin’, and poor Bhruic sounded as though he wished to cry along with her. I’ve no doubt that they love each other.”

Mairi and Isabelle glanced at one another, uncertain what it was exactly that Fiona wanted from them.

“I fear I’ve been verra selfish this past week,” Fiona admitted as she wrapped her arms around her stomach. She felt ashamed of her own actions and complete lack of regard for the man she had pledged to marry. “No’ once did I ask Bhruic what was in his heart. I’ve avoided him at every turn and I have been mopin’ around and actin’ like an arse.”

From the expressions on her sisters-in-law faces they agreed wholeheartedly with her assessment.

“I do no’ think I can marry Bhruic, not when I ken his heart belongs to Alyse. And what of Alyse? I marry the man she loves and she’s forced to see the two of us together day after day?” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I do no’ want to enter into another marriage knowin’ me husband canna or will no’ ever care fer me. And I canna do that to him. ’Twould no’ be fair to either of them, would it?”

Neither Isabelle nor Mairi had any answers for her.

“I fear ’twill be somethin’ ye need to pray about, Fi,” Isabelle said.

Prayer might be her last vestige of hope.

F
iona had done
a good deal of soul-searching and praying the rest of the day. She could not in good conscience keep her word to marry Bhruic after she had discovered just how much he and Alyse loved each other. ‘Twould have been a monumental mistake on her part to walk down that aisle and make an oath before God to love and honor a man who, not unlike herself, could not ever love her. At best, all they could hope for was a mutual friendship.

She knew the agony and suffering that Bhruic, and Alyse, would be forced to endure. Imagining herself in Alyse’s shoes, watching the man she loved building a life with another woman was devastating. She simply could not do it.

After enlisting the aid of her sisters-in-law, it took very little effort to convince Alyse that it should be she who married Bhruic, not Fiona. They had pulled Alyse into Fiona’s bedchamber after the evening meal and had an honest and heartfelt discussion on the matter.

Alyse, a sweet and bonny woman with blonde hair and big blue eyes, sat in a chair facing Fiona, Isabelle and Mairi. Sniffling and wiping away tears, she asked, “But what if Edgar refuses to allow it? What are we to do then?”

In truth, Fiona hadn’t thought that far in advance. “We will think of somethin’,” Fiona said, trying to sound more confident than she truly felt.

Alyse looked up at the women surrounding her. Fiona knew the young woman and mother of two small boys was doubtful. “If he does no’ agree,” Alyse began, “I will leave. I can go live with me mum’s sister, she be a McLaren. I have already packed, ye see, because I did no’ allow meself to hope fer a miracle.”

Fiona could not rightly blame her. She would have done the same. “Do no’ worry over it just yet,” Fiona said as she glanced at Mairi and Isabelle. “Together, we’ll think of a way fer ye to be with Bhruic, ye and all yer bairns together as a family, as it should be.”

Mairi and Isabelle offered warm smiles to Alyse. “Aye,” Isabelle said. “If anyone can convince a man to do a thing, ‘twould be our Fiona.”

Fiona wished she had as much faith in herself as her sister-in-law did.

’
T
was
just the two of them, Fiona and Edgar, sitting at the table in her private study. She had just informed him that she would not be marrying Bhruic on the morrow. To say Edgar MacKinnon was not a happy man would have been an understatement. Though he did not rant and rave or make threats, Fiona could see his fury simmering just under the surface.

“Ye made a promise,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Aye, I did make a promise. But I canna in good conscience go to the altar on the morrow when I ken verra well that Bhruic loves another,” Fiona told him.

His brow drew into a knot and looked as though he had not been party to that bit of information. Either Bhruic had not shared his feelings with his uncle or his uncle hadn’t expected Fiona to find out.

“Alyse McPherson,” Fiona gave him the name and waited for a reaction. A flicker of something menacing flashed behind Edgar’s eyes. “She was a MacKinnon and married into our clan several years ago. Her husband was killed about the same time as my James died. She has two sons and had been verra good friends with Bhruic’s wife. Since the deaths of their spouses, the two became good friends and that friendship turned into much more.”

“I do no’ see what that has to do with your promise to marry him. We had an agreement. Ye signed it. Ye made a promise. The weddin’ be on the morrow.” Though he was doing his best to maintain control, the sharp edge in his voice was unmistakable.

“The weddin’ will still take place,” Fiona said.

Edgar studied her for a moment, perplexed and angry all at once.

“Bhruic will marry Alyse.” She waited a few moments to allow him to mull it over. “I do no’ expect ye to still offer yer warriors or anythin’ else ye promised us. But I would still like us to be allies, Edgar. Ye and yers would always be welcome here. And the McPhersons will keep their word to offer ye aid should ye need it.”

For inexplicable reasons, her promise that they would remain allies seemed to appease him. Clan MacKinnon was far bigger than the McPhersons. Why was it so important for them to remain allies? Mayhap it went along the lines of ‘every little bit helps’. Aid, no matter how little or in what form, could eventually prove essential.

“What has Bhruic said on the matter?” Edgar asked, still keeping a suspicious eye on Fiona.

“I’ve no’ yet discussed it with him. Out of respect of our friendship, I wanted to come to ye first. But I’ve seen the way Bhruic looks at Alyse. I doubt he’ll be complainin’ about a change in brides.”

Edgar found that amusing and finally allowed himself to smile. “Me nephew be a romantic. I find it more an affliction than a blessin’.” He took in a deep breath and seemed to ponder things for a moment. Finally, he gave a quick nod of his head. “Verra well then, Bhruic and Alyse may marry.”

Relief washed over Fiona, but she managed to maintain her calm demeanor.

Edgar quickly added, “As long as ye promise we will remain allies.”

“I do so promise,” Fiona said.

“And I may visit often?”

Fiona raised a brow, uncertain why that was so important to him.

He grew uncomfortable under her close scrutiny. After a long, awkward silence, he said, “I was no’ blessed with daughters, only sons. I’ve grown quite fond of Bhruic’s wee daughter, Aingealag,” he said as if he were ashamed to admit it. “And if ye e’r repeat that, I’ll deny it!” he said, pointing a bony finger at her.

She had assumed that Bhruic would return to his own family after the wedding. “Ye intend for Bhruic to remain here?” she asked.

“Aye,” Edgar said before quickly adding, “ye’ll be needin’ every able-bodied man ye can get.”

That much was true. Still, she found it odd that Edgar would still insist Bhruic remain behind. Neither he nor Alyse were McPhersons.

“I’ll no’ be givin’ ye the one hundred men I promised. But I can leave ye a few.”

’Twas a most generous offer and she supposed she should not look a gift horse in the mouth. “Verra well then. I thank ye kindly, Edgar.”

“And I may visit me grandniece?”

“Aye, ye may.”

He looked much relieved and quite happy then. Why did some men feel ashamed at loving a person? Did they truly think it a sign of weakness? Resisting the urge to lecture him, she merely smiled. “So ye do possess a heart, after all.” Fiona teased. He glared at her. “I give ye me word, I’ll no’ ever tell another livin’ soul that ye have a heart, Edgar.”