The Fraser Bride (36 page)

“How can this be?” Lachlan asked.

“Ignorance is an evil thing,” Meara said, her voice dry as dust. “Evil and intolerant. Twins are thought to be the devil’s work. And triplets …”

“Triplets?” Ramsay asked. “There were triplets?”

“Nay, nay, there were not,” Meara said quickly. “I only mean that men are fools at times, and their sire, God rest his soul, was no exception. What difference does it make if the womb bears one babe or more? Surely the blessings be only multiplied. The laird of

Evermyst was not an evil man, but ignorance and superstition guided him.” She shook her head. “When the lady learned that she was to bear more than one child, she was afraid. ‘Tis not unknown for the second bairn to be put to death, so she begged me to hide the weaker of the two. I took Isobel far away and placed her in the care of a merchant’s wife.” Her ancient face cracked with grief. “I did not know she would fall into harm’s way.”

“Do not fret,” Isobel said. “I am not the lady of Evermyst, but neither am I dead. I have learned many things. Enough to make me own way in this world.”

“Your own way,” Anora repeated. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Even at our first meeting at the market, we knew the truth. ‘Tis not safe for us to be together,” Isobel said. “Prejudice and ignorance—”

“Cannot win out over right and strength,” Ramsay said.

“What?” asked the sisters in unison.

“If you will be me wife,” Ramsay began, his throat aching with emotions as he held Anora’s gaze, “I will let no harm befall you or your sister.”

“But—” Anora began.

“Nay!” Ramsay said. “Hear me out. I know that you do not trust men, but this I vow: if you will pledge your life to mine, I will keep you safe or die in the effort.”

Anora’s face was pale. “MacGowan—”

“Do not say nay,” he whispered, and Lachlan stepped forward.

” ‘Tis not just me brother’s might that will protect you, lass,” he said. “But all the MacGowan power. We are the brother rogues. Who can best us?”

“I don’t know,” Isobel said, eyeing Gilmour. “He gasped like a child when me rock hit him.”

“MacGowan.” Anora breathed his name and ever so gently caressed his cheek. “There are times when even right and strength cannot best hatred and intolerance. And those who hate me will hate you, also. I could not bear to see you hurt.”

“Then marry me,” he said. “For nothing could wound me more than being without you.”

“I—”

“Marry me,” he said, “or I shall befriend Senga and haunt Evermyst meself.”

“I fear you will not hear from Senga again once I have departed,” Isobel said.

“Aye,” Meara agreed, “but if she could, your grandmother would return to meet this man.” She nodded firmly. “For he is powerful and peaceable, and cunning and kind. But is he loved, Anora? You alone can answer that.”

The room fell into silence.

“Am I loved?” Ramsay whispered.

“Aye,” Anora murmured.

Gilmour frowned. “I always suspected God had a fine sense of humor. There is only one mystery left, then,” he added. “Who was the warrior who led us here to best the Munros?”

“The same warrior who seized the lass from our very camp,” Lachlan said.

“Aye. But who is he, Ram—” Gilmour began, but found his brother locked in Anora’s embrace.

“I suspect he’s busy,” Lachlan said.

“Humph,” Gilmour answered.

* * * * *

The wedding took place at Evermyst. The walls of the great hall were festooned with bouquets of dried white heather to bring luck to the newlyweds, and the floor was covered with fresh reeds mixed with sweet strew. A score of clans gathered together to celebrate. Frasers mingled with Forbeses and MacGowans and MacAulays and Munros in a riotous crush of cousins and kinsmen and friends.

Upon the dais, Ramsay stood with his bride, and scores of well wishers drank to their health. Against the far wall, wee Mary lay content in her wooden cradle, and near at hand a dark haired Irishman lifted a mug and a devilish smile.

“I do not understand it, Rachel,” said he, speaking loud enough to make certain Ramsay heard every word. “Here’s your wee cousin, naught much to look upon and somber as a stone, yet he gains himself this bonny bride. ‘Tis a miracle, I say.”

“You’re not the one to call the kettle black, Liam,” said a huge warrior who nudged his way through the crowd.

“Haydan,” said the violet eyed woman on Liam’s arm. ” ‘Tis glad I am to see you.”

“I only mean,” said Liam, not missing a beat, “that wonders will never cease. But then, I’ve heard this keep is bewitched, so mayhap there lies your answer.”

“Nay,” said Gilmour, stepping forth. ” ‘Tis the way Ram swoons that draws the lasses. Prettily, like a fine, delicate maid. Ohhh,” he crooned, and lifted the back of his hand feebly to his brow. “I feel weak. Marry me, Anora, or I shall surely faint.”

The closest bystanders chuckled and Gilmour grinned.

“I had hoped that her pity would run short before the time of the wedding, but I see that it was me own luck that ran short. Nevertheless …” He raised his horn mug. “I congratulate you, brother, and welcome your bonny bride into the clan.”

There were shouts of “cheers” and “hear, hear,” as Ramsay gazed at his bride’s beaming face.

“Tell me, wife,” he said, squeezing her hand and looking deep into her smiling eyes. “Did you marry me because of the way I swoon?”

“Is it the truth you want, husband?”

“It might be an interesting change,” he said.

She laughed and rose on her toes to whisper her words. “Indeed, I married you because you make
me
swoon.”

“Oh,” he breathed, and felt his blood rush southward.

Her lips drew closer to his. Ecstasy waited.

“Here now!” someone yelled. “Surely you can wait till you reach her bed, MacGowan.”

Ramsay pulled away and raised his mug in an impromptu toast. “May me union with the fair lady of Evermyst forever aid in the peace amongst our clans.” As cheers rang through the throng, his gaze fell on the Munro, looming above the heads of his countrymen. “Excuse me, me love,” he said, and extracted himself to weave through the crowd, keeping the red curly head in sight like the northern star.

“So you have come,” Ramsay said simply.

“Aye.” The Munro nodded once. There was a healing bruise on his brow and when he raised his hand to accept the drink he did so slowly, as if he hurt. “Let it not be said that the Munro be not a man of his word. I said I would come and so I have, as a sign of accord between your people and mine. Not that I am afeared of fighting you again.”

“Nay,” Ramsay said, and rubbed his chest, easing the wound still healing there. “Nay. I too would have no qualms about a battle between us.”

” ‘Tis for the lady,” Munro said and lifted his brooding gaze over Ramsay’s head. “For her there shall be peace … and for the wee babe.”

“Aye.” Ramsay scowled. “So you have spoken with Ailsa.”

“She came to Windemoor some weeks ago, asking to speak to me.” He sighed. “I knew ‘twas she who had found the maid called Deirdre after her fall. But I did not know that she had seen Cuthbert and the girl together.”

“Maybe she was mistaken,” Ramsay said, striving to keep his tone level. “Mayhap the child is not your brother’s at all, but—”

“The babe is most probably his. Just as he may be the one who pushed the maid from …” He grimaced. “Mayhap ‘twas the widow Ailsa’s loyalty to me clan that kept her from immediately telling what she knew, but Cuthbert was … not as gentle as I.”

Ramsay cleared his throat. ” ‘Tis that very gentleness I would appeal to now.”

The Munro’s scowl consumed his face. “What’s that?”

“About the bairn. She is as much a Fraser as a Munro, and though her mother is gone, the same is true of her father. And while I understand that you might mourn his loss, the truth is—”

“What be you trying to say, MacGowan?”

“I’d like to keep wee Mary.”

Munro glared. “Why?”

“I’ve become somewhat attached.”

“You jest.”

“Nay, I do not.”

“And if I agreed, what would I get in return?”

It was Ramsay’s turn to scowl. ‘Twas best to drive a hard bargain, of course, but if the truth be told, he would give up much in exchange. Gryfon came to mind. And he had a couple of brothers—

“What would you like?” Ramsay asked.

Munro raised his gaze to the dais. ” ‘Tis a bride that I need.”

Ramsay stiffened. “You’ll not lay a hand—”

“Don’t get all alather, laddie; I’ve no intention of taking yours.”

“Then what—”

“Though I do not understand it, women seem to find you rogues somewhat …” he narrowed his squinty eyes, “… appealing.”

Was he joking? Ramsay wondered. If he had swooned one more time in the past few weeks, he would have been laughed out of Scotland. “So you want—”

“Quiet,” Munro warned, still leaning forward. “You may not know it, but maidens of breeding do not always find me … charming.”

“They don’t?”

“Your tutelage will be changing that, MacGowan.”

Ramsay kept his expression impassive as full understanding dawned. “As you wish, then.”

“We are agreed?”

“Aye.”

The giant nodded grimly. ” ‘Tis good,” he said. “But I tell you now, if so much as a word of this gets out, I’ll tear you limb from limb and—”

“You must be the Munro.”

Ramsay turned at the sound of his brother’s voice, but Lachlan didn’t shift his gaze from the giant’s broad face.

Munro glanced down. “And you must be the brother the wee maid wounded with her rock.”

Lachlan’s brows lowered and Gilmour appeared beside him just in time to laugh. “I’m certain he meant nothing by it, brother. After all, ‘twas a good sized rock, flung by, well, by a braw lass.”

The Munro chuckled, and Lachlan’s brows lowered more.

“This be me wedding day, brothers,” Ramsay warned under his breath. “And I’ll not have a fight between—”

“What goes on here?” asked Flanna.

The lads turned in unison. “Nothing, Mother,” they said, and Ramsay slipped away with a smile.

Across a sea of heads, he could see his bride. Standing beneath a bower made of dried and twisted flowers, she gazed across the crowd. An expression of concern was on her bonny face. Ramsay hurried through the mob to her side.

“Anora.” He stepped up beside her and followed her gaze out over the crowd. “What is amiss?”

“Nothing. ‘Tis naught.” She looked up at him and smiled, but in that instant, he saw where her attention had been. A solemn faced young man stood at the edge of the crowd with his back to the wall.

He wore a wide brimmed leather hat, a padded doublet of russet hue, and high black boots that rose above the knees of his dark trews. There was a soberness about him, a taut virility that Ramsay almost recognized, as if he had seen him somewhere …

“The warrior!” he hissed, and prepared to leap through the crowd, but Anora caught his arm.

“All is well.”

“But ‘tis he,” Ramsay rasped. “The armor is gone, but ‘tis he just the same. The one who—”

“The one who made our meeting possible,” she said, and moved closer, so that their bodies just brushed.

Ramsay pushed his instant desire aside, for her safety was all that mattered. “I’ll question him now, learn the truth before he knows we suspect—”

“I have other things in mind,” she said, and slipped her hand into his. “More important things.”

“More impor—”

“More enjoyable,” she said, and rising on her toes, kissed him.

Ramsay’s every nerve sprang to keen edged attention, but he fought for rationality. “You are me wife,” he said, letting the meaning of the words slip to the core of his being and brace him with heady protectiveness. “I’ll not let anything harm you.”

She smiled, dimpling slightly.   “You are my beloved,” she said, “and he has no wish to harm me.”

Beloved.
He ached to take her into his arms here and now, but duty came first, and he must be cautious, lest he compromise her safety and make his own life unfit for the living. “How do you know he wishes you no harm?” he asked, shifting his gaze from her face to the warrior by the wall.

“I have a feeling,” she said.

“And what if you be wrong?”

“I am not wrong. But if I were, you would save me,” she murmured, and laughed.

Ramsay stood transfixed, for in her face there was neither restraint nor fear, just the soft, kindly trust of an angel in love.

“As you have already saved my heart and my soul,” she said, and squeezed his hand.

Her fingers were as fragile as a song and when he lifted them to his lips, he knew that his dreams had come true. She was his, forever and always, to protect and nurture and cherish.

Somewhere in the crowd a child laughed. The music of lutes and psalteries filled the air, and near the far wall, wee Mary giggled. An unseen hand rocked her cradle, and as music reached for the high rafters, Senga hummed along and smiled mistily at her granddaughter’s burgeoning joy.