Love Letters from Largs: Brodie and Celestina (Highlander Clan Grant Series Book 3) (4 page)

The
king’s booming voice could be heard throughout the room. “Och, but I do believe the talk is true in this case. Baron, your daughter is the most beautiful in all of Ayrshire.”

Celestina
bowed her head as King Alexander III smiled and grasped her gloved hands. She remembered to lower her eyes as she had been taught. Her father thanked him and hung around, probably hoping to gain a boon with the young king.

The room
swam with servants and the Scottish king’s many advisors, along with their wives. She surveyed the room but had no idea which man was her betrothed. She noticed the doors off the back opened to a large stone walkway. Groups of mostly men were gathered there, their laughter echoing inside. She smiled at how joyous everyone appeared, the sound of gaiety bringing memories of her mother back. As she stood next to her father, one voice stood out from the others, charismatic and commanding, causing many females to giggle at his ribald jokes.

A fair-haired man with wavy hair
, dressed in a fine waistcoat, came in from the outside and immediately crossed the room to them. “Ah, Baron Lunde, I finally have the pleasure of meeting my betrothed.”

Realizing this was the voice she had heard,
Celestina did her best not to flinch as she took in the sight of her intended. A good-looking man with a broad smile and a regal comportment, his hair fell in waves around his ears, and he wore jeweled rings on his fingers. He was quite a bit older than she was, but not as old as she had feared.

She
pasted on her trained smile, which she put into practice many times for her father. Fredrik Ivarsson took her gloved hand, and kissing her wrist, left a drop of saliva behind. Celestina wanted desperately to wipe it away, but she knew her rudeness would not go unnoticed by her father, so she squelched the urge.

She stood and assessed her betrothed
; quietly, demurely, exactly as her father had ordered her to act. Her husband frightened her. Though he was nice looking, she swore the cold tip of a sharp icicle had pierced her skin when he gazed at her. There was no other word for it. While her father’s eyes could spew hatred with a mere glance, this man’s eyes were cold, calculating, even twisted. So this is what she had to look forward to—cruelty and control.

Years of
practice helped her summon memories of her mother humming as she planted flowers. Tender thoughts of her mother had saved her sanity on numerous occasions. Still, she found her hand rubbing the spot directly above her eyebrow as the beginning of a headache assaulted her.

The sound
of Lord Ivarsson requesting her father’s permission to escort her interrupted her massage of her temple. Her head pounded ferociously as she thought of being alone with her betrothed. She wanted to beg her father not to desert her, but she knew it would be useless. Her father smiled, a sheer look of joy adorning his face, and gave his permission. Without delay, her betrothed took her hand and placed it on his forearm. He escorted her around the room without even looking at her, as if she was nothing but a decoration for him. He didn’t speak directly to her, but he introduced her to many as his betrothed.

Eventually, he made his way outside
to the stone walkway where several men were still assembled without their wives, drinking the fine Scotch
breath of life
. Ivarsson led her past serving wenches, minstrels, and revelers, guiding her toward a stone path, which appeared to lead into the gardens. She was introduced to many, and the leers she received made her skin crawl. Her betrothed never said a word to the men who stared, treating their behavior as if it was normal. Her knight, if she had one, would never allow another man to look at her that way without comment.

She gazed across the royal lawns and noticed many guardsmen outside, some in plaids, some carrying large swords, all obviously there to protect the
king. As she glanced their way, she noticed a few staring at her, though they weren’t leering like the men near the doorway had been. These just stared. Her father had been right; apparently she was just as homely as he had oft said. The king had praised her beauty out of kindness; these men stared at her homeliness as if she was an anomaly.

“My dear, there are some lovely flowers in the royal gardens. Would you like to see them?”
Ivarsson gave her a slight bow and a forced smile.

What choice did she have? She felt her head nodding,
though she silently wished to go in the opposite direction, back toward the castle. The gardens were mostly in the dark. She noticed a few torches, but not nearly as many as were closer to the doorway. Once they started down the path, darkness would surround her and she would be totally dependent on husband to be.

As they carried on, he continued
to speak. “Celestina—,” he stopped and forced her to stare at him, “while you smile beautifully, you have not said a word. It is important to me that my wife speaks to others as regally as I do. You are to be the wife of a wealthy merchant, and you need to start acting like one. I would also like for you to address me with the adoration all wives owe their husbands.”

She didn’t know how to answer him. “Forgive me, my lord, but I am unsure
of how to address you properly.” Her hand trembled on his arm. She could only hope she’d given him the answer he desired.

“Ah, I understand. This could be confusing for you.” He smiled as he ran his hand down her
arm. “You probably have never met a man as important as me before, have you?”

She shook her head, “N
ay, my lord.”

“Then you are forgiven this one error. You may address me as
Lord Ivarsson in public, but when we are alone, I wish you to call me by my given name, Fredrik. Please do not forget my station. I am above most everyone here, and they need to be reminded as such.”

He smiled and the blood in her veins turned cold. His arm wrapped around her waist
as he continued to lead her toward the gardens. When they were far enough away to guarantee no one would overhear him, he yanked her around to face him. His large mouth descended on hers and he bit her lower lip to force her mouth open. She yelped but he yanked on her hair. His tongue swept inside her mouth, gagging her with the taste of fish and onions.

As quick
ly as the kiss had started, it stopped. He stared at her, his smile gone. “That is to let you know who is in charge. You are to do whatever I say. I will marry you because your father is near destitute and I have many riches. And you need to treat and address me as I so deserve.”

Celestina nodded, suppressing the revulsion raging through her body.

His fingers dug into her elbow so she nodded.

“Good. As long as we have an
understanding, the marriage will go on as planned. Do not ever think you have the right to question what I do—anytime, anywhere. You must know how badly your father needs my funds. Now, smile to show everyone how happy you are to be betrothed to me, and remember what I said about speaking sweetly to me. You will stay by my side for the remainder of the evening.

“
Do not look so disappointed, my dear. As my wife, I promise to shower you with silks and jewels.” He kissed her cheek. “You will have servants galore. I will never ask you to roughen that soft skin of yours. But I do want you to understand that I will come and go as I please. You will be handsomely rewarded for your discretion. Besides, if I have lovers on the side, you will not be forced to perform as often. Once I get you with child, I promise you may relax for a year and focus on our little one. I would not like to risk losing the baby.”

Celestina managed to
keep her practiced smile solidly in place as she put one foot in front of the other. She glanced to both sides of the walkway, wishing a cliff would appear so she could throw herself over it. Whatever slim hope she had of her life improving had just shattered into millions of pieces.

Upon their return
to the great hall, the king stepped in front of them. “Well, I see the happy couple has finally met. Are you both pleased with this arrangement, Lord Ivarsson? Celestina?”

Celestina
lowered her eyes until she felt nails digging into her elbow. She nodded her head in agreement as her betrothed spoke of his good fortune. She fought the tears the way she always did, by opening her eyes wide, staring into opposite direction, and doing anything and everything to distract herself from her true emotions.

Heat suddenly spread through her limbs as her king and her betrothed continued their conversation.
Something caught her attention, drawing her away from everything surrounding her. There by the hearth—who was it?

She turned her head and gazed into the eyes of the lad who had stopped her from jumping. Unable to function, she froze
and stared into the kindest, warmest brown eyes she had ever seen. All cleaned up, he was beyond handsome, almost perfect. He was strong, rugged, and the epitome of everything her knight would be.

But it was too late.

Chapter Four

Not Good Enough

As soon as they arrived in the great hall that night, Brodie started his search
for the blonde curls of the lass who had monopolized his thoughts. She was nowhere to be seen, even though King Alexander had promised him she would be here. A couple of other yellow-haired ladies were in attendance, but neither was the one he searched for. He distantly noticed Alex making small talk with The Boyd and The Mure. While he liked them both well enough, he wasn’t interested in chatting at the moment, so he kept his distance from the group. He was too afraid he would miss her if he let anything distract him.

He
grabbed an ale from a passing serving wench, then took up a sentinel position at the hearth. Recognition hit him square in the gut when he saw that mass of spun gold. She was here. As soon as his gaze located her, his heart did a somersault. Nausea followed fast on its heels as soon as he noticed her escort and companion.

By far the most beautiful lass in the room,
Celestina wore lavender as regally as if she was the queen of the castle. A light veil adorned her locks, as was appropriate for her age and station, but the thin covering could not begin to hide the glorious sheen of the thick waves that cascaded down her back. He recalled the depth of her blue eyes with their long lashes and her flawless skin. Every male in the room was totally captivated by her presence and, along with the rest of them, he couldn’t pull his gaze away.

H
er lovely smile appeared to be fooling everyone—everyone except him. He scrutinized the older man she was with, who was busy playing his part for the king. He was certainly pleased to have Celestina on his arm, that much was obvious, but there was an unmistakable coldness in his eyes, even from this distance.

Then
she turned, and her gaze caught his. She smiled, her beauty effervescent, but her eyes betrayed a desperation he had never seen. How could he blame her? He could tell her betrothed was the sort of man who would crush her spirit instead of treating her as she deserved, as a flower ready to bloom. Standing on the other side of her was the man who had spoken to him at the door of the tower home, presumably her father. So she was being transferred from one cruel man to another…no wonder she’d considered ending her plight in such a manner.

Alex
strode up and clasped him on the shoulder. “’Tis the lass, aye?”

“Aye,” Brodie answered with a belabored sigh.
“’Tis the one. Her father is with her, and that must be her betrothed.”

“She looks happy enough
now, Brodie. Mayhap you were wrong about her intentions earlier in the day. You should try to forget her. Her betrothed is a good looking man, and no’ as ancient as I expected.”

“Happy? Do you call that happy?” Brodie stared at his brother. “Look in
to her eyes, Alex. They are the saddest eyes I have ever seen.”

“Och,
” he said after a moment, “mayhap you are right. She does no’ look happy after all. ‘Tis a forced smile.”

The
men surrounding her wouldn’t stop him from finding a way to talk to her; not her betrothed, not the baron, not even the King of the Scots. He didn’t care what it would take. He had to speak to her again. He just had to.

The Boyd strolled up
to Alex’s side and spoke across him. “So was the king correct, Brodie? Was it young Celestina who caught your eye?”

Brodie nodded
in her direction. “Aye.”

“Och, you have good taste.
She is a rare beauty.”

“So I walk away?
I just forget her and allow her to be manipulated by two cruel men? The lass deserves better.”

Boyd smiled
, resting a reassuring hand on Brodie’s shoulder, gently restraining him. “I am sure the young lass would be much happier with a rugged young Highlander like you than the man her king has chosen for her, but ‘tis politics, lad. Let’s hope the rumors about Fredrik Ivarsson are not all true, aye? I do no’ believe he killed his first wife. He seems quite keen on his intended at the moment.”

“What? The man killed his first wife?” Brodie’s loud voice made his brother jump, but fortunately the room was noisy at the moment. No one else reacted. “Is this true?”
Brodie stared at the small group, ignoring the pointed gaze of his king who appeared to have noticed his interest. Powerless to fight the pull of the blonde beauty, his mind churned with possibilities.

“Lad, there are other ways to fight,” Boyd
said, his voice soft. It was the first thing he’d said that held Brodie’s interest.

Turning to him, he said,
“How so?”

“We’re about to go to war with
Norway. Mayhap ‘tis best for you to await the chaos that comes with war.”

Brodie nodded in agreement but didn’t voice his thoughts.
Now he had an even stronger sense of purpose, if possible. If she married Ivarsson, her life could be at stake.

Looking back at the lass and her betrothed’s sneer, he didn’t know if he could wait.

***

Ivarsson and the lass’s father left her in the company of a priest and made their way out of the great hall, moving away from the merriment and the king’s eye. Brodie noticed the king’s attention strayed to other areas, so decided to take advantage of the situation. He followed Baron Lunde and Ivarsson until they disappeared down the dark path leading into the gardens. His one and only opportunity had just arrived, and he would not miss it. He meandered his way to Celestina’s side as subtly as he could. He stopped directly in front of her. “Your pardon, my lady, I wish to introduce myself. I am Brodie Grant of Dulnain Valley.” He nodded to her and then to the priest at her side.

While he spoke, he
couldn’t help but notice how upset she was. She was fighting to cover the turmoil raging inside with a façade of serenity. He guessed she was trained at this deception, but he saw through it. He saw the fine tremble of her upper lip, the clench of her arm on the priest, and the rigidity of her posture. When he caught her gaze, he detected a brief softening in her countenance, a sense of relief almost. “Father, I wish a brief moment with the lady.”

The
priest grinned. “Aye, my son, you may have a word with the lady, but only in my presence. I am Father Padraig of the Celtic Church, and this is Celestina Lunde, betrothed to Fredrik Ivarsson. I am often in attendance with the baron and his people. Say what you wish.”

“I accept your terms, Father. May we step into a more private area?”

They moved to an area near the staircase. Brodie fidgeted, uncertain what to say now that he’d managed to gain an audience with her.

Friar Pa
draig nodded for him to begin, but Brodie’s words caught in his throat. She was even more beautiful tonight. Her porcelain skin begged for his caress, her rosy lips were soft and slightly plump. Lost in her loveliness, he coughed to bring his mind back on course. Acting like a love sick lad would not get him anywhere. “My lady, after watching you almost jump to your death earlier today, I must ask if you are in a better state now. I am concerned about your well-being.”

The
priest made a small choking sound and turned to await Celestina’s answer.

Celestina folded her hands demurely in
front of her and spoke on cue without any emotion. “You must be mistaken, my lord. I would never do such a thing.” She cleared her throat and kept her gaze over his shoulder, attempting to ignore him. The trembling visible in her hands told another story. “I request that you not make such ridiculous accusations in front of Father Padraig.”

Brodie realized he should have thought of that. Attempting suicide was against the rules of the church. He had made a big error in judgment. He knew they could be seen, but he could not stop himself. He
reached for her gloved hands and wrapped his hands around hers. The shiver that coursed through her body in response to his touch traveled up his arm.

He touched a finger to her chin to force her to look at him.
“Are you sure? Are you no’ to be married soon? Should you no’ be basking in glory and celebration? Because even if you were no’ bent on ending your life earlier, I have nae seen a more crestfallen lass.” He regretted that he had to pull his hand from her face, but he had no choice—the priest was likely to stop him at any moment. He thought about brushing his thumb across the soft skin of her cheek, but he knew it would never be allowed. He wanted to feel her, not just look at her. Still, he wanted to drink in her essence, to know everything about her.

The sadness in her blue eyes wrenched his heart. “I will be married in less than a sennight.
I am very happy with my engagement.” Her eyes misted as she spoke.

“Pardon my rudeness, my lady, but you do no’ seem pleased with this arrangement. Can you no’ refuse his suit and find another? There must be many Scottish lads who would marry you.
I must say he is no’ a kind looking man. Is this what you wish for your future?”

“
My lord, I have no say in my marriage. Surely you realize most females do not choose their husbands. I do as I am bid by my father and my king. This is a political marriage, as well as a financial one.”

“Aye, but this is
the land of the Scots. You can refuse to marry the man if you wish.”

Her eyes searched his for a moment, and then she shook her head. “I must thank you for your kindness
and your compassion, but there is nothing to be done.” She stood and straightened her skirts. “It will not bode well for me to be found in your company, my lord.” She glanced at the priest, warmth and sympathy visible in his eyes. “I think it is time for us to leave, Father Padraig, before my father returns from his meeting.”

“She speaks the truth, my lord. Thank you for your concern, but she m
ust return to her betrothed.”

Brodie
was powerless to move, but stood spellbound as the priest escorted her back amid the crowd in the great hall. At least, she had one true supporter in Father Padraig. He had never seen anyone as stunning as Celestina Lunde. His friend, Nicol, was right. He wanted her in so many ways, yet the situation seemed impossible.

But she was more than that. Her bravery at dealing with a marriage bound for failure was impressive. Had she heard of the rumors about her betrothed? If so, she had to be one of the strongest lasses he had ever met not to run out that door at the prospect of her imminent marriage.
At first, he pictured her as weak and in need of assistance. Now, he saw her situation entirely different. Strength and courage were the words that came to mind, not weakness.

He would not give up and walk away from a lass in such turmoil.
He vowed to make her his. But how? And why was he acting like a fool? He had just met this woman, and he was already thinking of marriage. The reason was simple; he could not stomach to see her on the arm of Fredrik Ivarsson. She belonged with him, and he would not give up until she was his wife.

But would she have him?
He was no earl, no baron, no laird. She had not expressed any overt interest in him other than the trembling at his touch. Was she the kind of lady who was attracted to jewels and wealth? If so, what did Brodie have to offer her?

***

Celestina’s head spun in a dizzying response to Brodie Grant. She could still feel the heat of his touch on her chin as if he had branded her. How she wished it could be that simple.

As soon as
he’d approached them, her heart had sped up like never before. His presence was commanding, safe, protective, something with which she had little experience.

Lord
Ivarsson escorted Celestina to the opulent dining table, one of several in the large hall. As they stood waiting for their king to be seated on the dais before them, he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “This is a lovely room, but not as lovely as you, my dear.”

Celestina did the only thing she could
bear to do with the feeling of his hot breath on her ear. Refusing to acknowledge his closeness, she took the opportunity to survey her surroundings, hoping he would take the hint.

Heavy
, rich, red and gold brocade tapestries decorated the walls. The hearth was one of the largest she had ever seen. A tapestry of the former King of the Scots, Alexander’s father, hung over it. One oak table sat regally at the end of the hall on a raised dais, and was adorned with intricately carved silver goblets and plates. Three more wooden tables ran the length of the hall, parallel to each other. They were arranged so all could view the king, in case he needed their attention. Fresh rushes on the floor lent a sweet fragrance to the setting.

Fredrik
held her seat for her as she approached the table. He sat to her right and her father to her left, completely boxing her in between them. Laird Alexander Grant was sitting directly next to her father, and The Grant’s brother, was to his left. She was thankful the seating arrangement had her perfect knight a couple of seats down from her. Had she been required to sit near him, her heart would have broken for sure. No one sat opposite so their view of the king would not be hindered. She kept her gaze on the place setting in front of her, careful not to do anything to raise her father’s ire. Without a doubt, he would hold her accountable for any transgressions, making her pay for them many times on the morrow. She already expected one swing of her father’s beloved switch for his dislike of her hairstyle.