Page 4 of Bride takes a Scot (Highland Vows & Vengeance #1)

T he castle was buzzing with activity. Servants bustled about and set out the morning fare for all the guests. Isabella sat at the trestle table with the other brides and waited anxiously for the announcement of the commencement of the bouts. That the men had to fight in a brawl to claim one of the women was barbaric. Surely the king could have settled the matter in a more civilized manner.

The woman next to her leaned toward her and whispered, “I cannot eat a thing. Just think, by day’s end we shall know who our husbands will be.” Isabella peered at the woman whom she knew to be Eva Scott, the youngest of the brides. Her enthusiasm was misplaced. Eva smeared a piece of bread with fruit and shoved it in her mouth. “You should eat something.”

The lass was a contradiction. “Have you a favorite? Is there a man who you hope to win the bout and claim you?” Isabella asked her but left her food untouched.

Eva’s dark blue eyes shimmered from the candlelight in the dim hall. The long tresses of her dark hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned closer. “I spoke with all of them for some time, except for Laird MacKendrick. He wasn’t very forthcoming, but still, he did dance with me. If I had to select one of the men, it would be a difficult decision for they’re all handsome,” she said. “What about you? Do you have your heart set on any of the men?”

How could she answer? She almost asked Declan last eve to claim her but then he teased her, and her subtlety was lost on him. There was another man who interested her, Laird Shaw MacIntosh, who was indeed charming. He courted her with sweet words when she’d danced with him and said that she was near the top of his list. At the same time, the man certainly made himself available to the other ladies and mingled with them all evening. Isabella glanced across the room and spotted Declan standing with Shaw. They appeared to be having an intimate conversation and she wondered what they were saying.

Eva picked up her cup and took a small sip before she asked her again, “Do you? Perhaps it’s one of those two?” She pointed to Declan and Shaw. “They seem to be staring at us.”

“Since I have no say, it really doesn’t matter. Besides, my heart will not be affected. Marriage is nothing but a contract between a man and a woman. The man is the master and the woman his property. It is the way it is done.” Isabella reiterated her mother’s words, the adage she’d been told since she’d begun her training to be a wife. She sighed because deep down, she believed a woman should be a partner and respected for her views.

She was saved from their conversation when the chamberlain entered and announced the bouts would soon begin and to make their way to the courtyard. Isabella followed the women outside and stood near the dais that was erected for the king and queen.

All hushed when Alexander and Margaret appeared and approached the dais.

The king spoke to the chamberlain and Margaret left her husband’s side. She ambled toward them and stopped in front of them. Dressed regally in an elegant overdress, the queen wore her garments well and fitted to accentuate her body. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back in braids and was tucked beneath a simple wimple. “Ladies, worry not for you will not be displeased with any of these men as your husband. I took great care to notice your interactions last eve. If you—” Before she could continue, the trumpeter called everyone’s attention. The queen left them and returned to her husband’s side.

The grooms strolled through the mass of onlookers until they reached the dais. They bowed their heads to Alexander and gave firm nods. The king seemed pleased by this. The solemnity of the moment instilled a tenseness within Isabella. There was no turning back, no way to stop the events that would unfold on this day.

He announced, “The first battle will commence. Those fighting are MacKendrick and MacIntosh. There are to be no weapons, hand-to-hand combat only. You shall fight in the marked square to the finish. If for any reason you step out of the square, you will be declared the loser. If you call a truce, you shall forfeit the match. The winner of each match shall get to choose his bride.” Alexander sat in his chair and waited for his chamberlain to start the tourney.

Isabella stood stock still with her breath a small rasp on her lips. Declan and Shaw stepped into the center of the square and faced each other. The fight began within a blink of an eye when Declan threw out his fist and hooked Shaw on the right side of his face. She winced at the sound of Declan’s fist striking the man. Voices rose, instructing and encouraging the combatants. She couldn’t move a muscle or cheer on the melee.

Shaw jabbed Declan until he rolled his shoulder and tucked his chin to his chest to avoid the punches. Regardless, Declan’s nose seeped blood. He began to use his upper shoulder to catch the punches Shaw threw at him and grunted from the onslaught. Isabella’s breath just about ceased altogether as she witnessed Declan’s downfall. Her eyes moistened with the beginning of tears, but she willed herself not to weep. She wanted to shout at Declan to strike back, to do something to help himself, but the brutality of the fight held her silent. Shaw appeared to be winning. God help her.

But then, before Shaw could cut away, Declan began to throw uppercuts and landed his fist repeatedly on the side of Shaw’s head. Isabella’s heart clashed languidly as she watched in awe of Declan’s powerful jabs. The crowd’s reaction rose in a meshing of oohs , bahs , and ahhs which sounded as they stood afar from them. Shaw grabbed hold of Declan in a chokehold to keep him from striking him, but Declan kept throwing punch after punch, hitting Shaw’s face, upper body, and head. She’d never seen men fight in such a way and the savagery of it held her enthralled and somewhat sickened.

Shaw’s knees shook, and finally, he ended up on the ground. He had no choice but to concede to Declan and call a truce when he failed to stand. Both men rasped from their exertion. Declan wiped the blood from his nose with the edge of his tartan and bowed over Shaw who continued to lay on his back, groaning. But in a sign of gallantry, he helped Shaw to rise.

Oddly, Shaw wore a smile on his face. Though they both bore the marks of the fight, the crowd seemed somehow slighted. It was as if the men purposely ended the fight sooner than they should have. Isabella was glad it had ended, and she had to keep herself from celebrating Declan’s victory because it would be unseemly and a slight to Shaw.

The queen, on the other hand, squealed with delight and clapped her hands. “I knew MacKendrick would win this bout. Is this not wonderful, Alexander?”

The king muttered, “I am gladdened you are enjoying yourself, My Lady.”

Edmund shouted and called, “The battle is finished. The winner is Laird MacKendrick. Come forward to claim your bride.”

Isabella squeezed her hands together and closed her eyes briefly. The moment was at hand when he’d declare who he chose for his wife. Would her name cross his lips? She prayed silently that he would select her and opened her eyes to view the proceedings.

Declan stood before the dais. He had a blackening eye and swollen cheeks, but his face wasn’t nearly as battered as Shaw’s. Her fingers tightened in their clasp, and she just about breathed as she waited in anticipation, with her heart thrumming in her ears.

“MacKendrick, ye have your choice of bride. What say ye? Whom do you select?” Alexander asked in a booming voice.

With an unwavering voice, Declan declared, “I choose Isabella, Lord Adam Forrester’s daughter.”

“Very well, you shall wed directly after the midday meal,” Alexander said. “The next bout will commence in a short moment. Three brides remain.”

If she had to marry one of the Highlanders, she was gladdened it was Declan. She appreciated that he hadn’t taken offense to her teasing and outspokenness. And at the very least, he seemed noble even if he was somewhat daunting in his appearance. His demeanor couldn’t be mistaken with the slight frown he wore, his overly long hair cascading wavy blond locks over his manly shoulders. He didn’t appear pleased to be marrying her in spite of the fact he’d fought to name her, given the scowl on his brow.

Still, if another had chosen her, Isabella had been told by the queen that she could reject the proposal until the man she wanted selected her. When the queen questioned her about her choice of husband, Isabella happily vowed that only MacKendrick would suit her. But she needn’t have worried because there were whispers in the queen’s antechamber that Margaret liked to meddle in her husband’s affairs. Isabella suspected the queen took matters into her hands which was probably why Declan had won the bout so easily and especially had won her hand in marriage.

*

Isabella still reeled from the fight she’d witnessed. Supper ended much too soon for her liking. The trepidation of the wedding weighed on her and she couldn’t eat a bite of the midday meal. As much as she wanted to abscond, she had little choice but to go forth. She stood in front of the dais with Declan MacKendrick by her side, her mind a whirl of events that happened since she’d arrived the day before. She wore her favorite of the gowns her mother had allowed her to bring with her.

Declan wore a bruised eye and a little swelling on the side of his face to the wedding. Other than that, she could hardly tell he’d been in a fight.

The king and queen sat in their chairs, avid onlookers to their nuptials. Only family and friends were permitted besides the king and queen in Alexander’s private chamber for the taking of the vows. Isabella regarded her parents, especially her father, who appeared forlorn, but they bore it well in front of their sovereign. She had expected her father’s emotional outburst, but he kept his sobs to a minimum. Declan, she noticed, had no family present.

The king’s chancellor bespoke the sacramental rites and offered his marital advice. When he finished, he bade them to state their agreement to marry. It was all a blur to her, but before she knew it, the chancellor had instructed Declan to kiss her. He leaned forward and she waited in anticipation for him to set his lips on hers. Instead, he brushed her cheek with his nose and placed a chaste kiss there, leaving her surprised and disappointed. She’d expected the bold man to kiss her possessively, or at least with some kind of vigor. Instead, Declan pulled back and stepped to her side.

“I offer my congratulations to you both,” the king said. “MacKendrick, you will consummate the marriage with all due haste. There will be no petitions for an annulment. You shall uphold your end of our agreement. Is that understood?”

“I give ye my accord, Sire.” Declan nodded slightly and pulled her away. When they reached the entrance to the great hall, he stopped and pulled her aside. “Milady, we will leave in a moment. Make ready and say your farewells.”

“Now? You wish to leave now? But it’s after midday. Shouldn’t we await the morrow?” A heated sense wound its way up her neck, and she fanned herself with her hand, but it did no good to alleviate her panic. It wasn’t that she was afraid to be alone with Declan, but the thought that she was leaving her life and going to an unknown place quite overwhelmed her.

“Aye, I will not stay another minute this close to the Sassenach. If ye wish to say your farewells to your parents, they await you.” Declan bowed his head and set off.

Isabella turned and found her parents standing behind her. She called to him, “I shall meet you outside then, my lord.” Then she waited for her parents to speak, but it was evident that her father was far too emotional to utter a word. “Worry not, Father, I shall fare well. Promise me that you’ll not be saddened. I will write to you when I can. Take care when you go…hunting. I shall worry for your safety.”

“Remember all that I have taught you. You have all the knowledge of how to be a good wife,” her mother said. “In time, you shan’t miss us at all. You’ll be busy raising your babies.”

Isabella nodded absently to her mother. “If Christopher returns, please tell him… Tell him to write to me.” She worried so for her brother, but the likelihood that he would return from the crusade was slight. News arrived daily bringing the names of soldiers and regiments that had perished.

“We shall. Go on, dearest, your husband awaits,” her mother said. “’Tis best not to keep him waiting. That is not a good way to begin a marriage. Remember your manners and tamper your temper. You do not want your husband thinking you a shrew.”

“I will keep you both in my prayers.” As Isabella turned to leave, her father bawled and carried on. Her mother consoled him, but all in the great hall, including the king and queen, witnessed his sorrowful behavior.

With brightened cheeks, Isabella left. She was completely humiliated by her father’s manners. Still, it lightened her heart to think he, and maybe even her mother, though she always presented a strong sense of duty, would miss her.

She found their belongings along with others outside awaiting the footmen’s handling of putting the trunks and baggage on the carriages. A manservant hastened forward, retrieved her valise, and walked toward the horses to secure it.

Isabella backed up and tried to find Declan among the men standing around. She gasped when she bumped into someone. He prevented her from falling to the ground. Isabella gazed behind her at Declan whose hands clasped her body just beneath her breasts on her upper waist. A rush of warmth shot through her.

“Milady, are ye ready?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard at having his hands intimately holding her. He continued to keep his hands firmly on her and she turned, set her hands on his chest, and wanted badly to lean into him and have him embrace her. All to be held in his strong arms, but he released her, and his arms shifted to his sides. He approached the horses all but ignoring her silent plea.

As she drew near to him, he finished tying her valise to a horse and held out his hand to assist her. “You have no others to protect you on the journey home?”

“I need no others,” he replied boastfully.

“Oh,” she replied, astounded by his prowess. He certainly appeared able-bodied enough to protect himself on the trek. She placed her hand in his and he helped her mount the horse. Once she was seated, she watched him curiously. “It shall be dark soon. How far do we travel?”

“We will ride a few leagues and shall stop at an inn that I frequent when I travel to Edinburgh. Do not look so dour, Wife, you will have a roof over your head this eve.”

Declan was seated upon his horse before she blinked. He nudged the animal forward and didn’t glance behind him to ensure she followed. Isabella watched his back as she trailed him. He had strong muscles evident by the way his tunic stretched over his shoulders. He was a well-built man and she had to admit that not only was he handsome, but also his body was definitely pleasing to look upon.

By late evening, they’d arrived at a small manor home. He jumped from his horse and assisted her to dismount. Her legs ached and a stiffness settled in her lower back from riding for so long. Isabella appreciated his aid. She purposely closed her eyes and leaned against him, delighted to be held by him but it also gave her time to adjust to standing. He steadied her and she wouldn’t let him release her when she took hold of his tartan. After a few moments, he stepped away from her.

“Lass, we should get inside and get ye warm.” He forced her to release him and handed the reins of the horses to a lad. “Stable them. We’ll leave early in the morn.”

The stable lad nodded and walked off, leading their mounts behind him.

Isabella followed Declan inside the stone building.

At the entrance, an older woman with short brown hair greeted them. Her face lit with a smile. The innkeeper yelled to her husband, but he didn’t come at her call. “Laird Declan, ’tis good to see ye again. I’ll ready your room for ye.”

“We will need two rooms, Mistress,” he said absently and followed her.

They took the stairs and the woman stopped at a door. She opened it and turned to the door across the hallway and opened that one as well.

“Enjoy your evening, Laird. If ye wish, I’ll have food sent up. ’Tis well past the supper meal and our cook retired for the night. But I’m sure I can scrounge up some light fare.”

“Aye, that would be kind of you, Mistress. We could use a wee bite to eat.”

The woman left them.

Isabella grimaced at the thought that he wouldn’t be sharing a room with her. Shouldn’t she stay with her husband? It was their wedding night, after all, and she’d heard the king profess that Declan should consummate their marriage. How she looked forward to it, but he didn’t seem to want her with him. That dejected her more than she realized. Isabella didn’t enter her room. She stood staring at Declan and hoped he would change his mind and call to her, but he leaned against the door jamb, unsmiling.

“Get rest, Wife, we’ll set out early.”

“Wait,” she said and stepped toward him. “Why? Why do you not wish to share a room?”

“I thought ye might appreciate sleeping in your own bed this night.” He offered no further explanation.

“I wouldn’t appreciate that at all.” She stepped into his room and waited for him to close the door, but he didn’t.

Declan seemed anchored to the floorboards but eventually, he entered and shut the door. He ambled toward her and said, “I do not expect ye to perform your wifely duties, especially after a day on horseback. We can wait until we get home. Ye should return to your bedchamber. I’ll have a hot bath sent up for ye to soak in so that ye can rest more comfortably.”

Isabella wanted to scream. She had no intention of leaving him. “Nay, I shall be quite comfortable here. Why do you wish to wait until we get home?” Her face heated with her question. She couldn’t even put words to name what they’d do—if they ever got around to doing it.

“We have been riding all day. Surely you are tired and sore.” He pulled the tartan covering his upper body loose and tossed it on a chair.

Her eyes followed him, taking in his every movement, his body, and the way he exuded confidence. “I am not tired at all or sore.”

“Well, Wife, I am,” his tone was a little testy. He removed the scabbard that held his sword and set it next to the chair. “If ye wish to stay here, I will not object, but ye shall be more comfortable in your own bedchamber.”

He wouldn’t object ? What was wrong with her that he wouldn’t take his husbandly rights? Thoroughly ashamed, Isabella lowered her head and hurried through the doorway. “I bid you a good night then.”

Isabella retreated to her room across the hall and entered. She closed the door and sat on the bed with absolute consternation. Her husband was a perplexing man. What man wouldn’t take his husbandly rights on his wedding night? She held doubt that he was tired because he certainly appeared as if he could ride through the night with little or no complaint.

A knock came at the door, and she hastened to it thinking Declan had changed his mind, but it was a servant, delivering a tray of light foodstuff. She took the tray and thanked her, noted that Declan’s door remained closed, and used her hip to shut her door.

Though her mother explained what happened in the marriage bed, it had never appealed to her. She’d been told to do her duty and suffer through it. It all sounded rather ghastly to her, that is until she met Declan. Declan wasn’t like other men. Most would claim ownership of their wife, but he hadn’t. There seemed to be a sense of admiration in him. The thought of his touches, kisses, and his body against hers brought a sense of excitement to her. No other man had stirred such emotion and sensual yearning from her.

Every new wife needed a little encouragement, didn’t they? In her case, she needed very little. She wanted his affection. If only he wasn’t so noble, she could, at that very moment, enjoy being with him and sharing the intimacy.

Isabella ate a little of the food, washed herself thoroughly at the basin since a bath hadn’t arrived, and readied for bed. After, she pulled back the coverings. She tossed and turned and couldn’t fathom why Declan objected to being with her. Her pride was as dented as armor after a fierce battle. If he had no care for her, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting it bother her either. But she contradicted herself with her next thought—he didn’t want her.

Groggily, she arose when the sun streamed into the bedchamber. Isabella had gotten only a few winks of sleep since her mind turned all night. Grumpily, she hastened to the chamber pot. When she finished, she used the basin to wash and pulled her hair into a tie at her nape. She wanted to look her best. Not that it mattered because her clot-headed husband didn’t care a whit about her and probably wouldn’t notice. She dressed and left her bedchamber, moving down the stairs and into the common room.

“The laird is outside,” the innkeeper’s wife told her. “He’s awaitin’ for ye. He told me to give ye something quick-like to break your fast whilst he gets the horses ready.”

She stood by the small trestle table ladened with various breads and fruit smears, fruit, small wedges of cheese, and a pitcher of mead. Isabella ate a few bites of fruit and cheese and only drank half a cup of mead. She didn’t want to have to seek nature on the ride, at least until later in the day.

Isabella stepped outside and saw Declan standing in the sunlight holding the horses’ reins. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. Lord , she prayed, help me to win his affection. Even the tiniest bit would appease me.

“Good morn,” she greeted him with a smile and hurried to mount the horse. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“Nay, I only just got here. Good morn, Wife.”

Declan helped her by giving her a leg-up. Isabel purposely appeared too weak to put her leg over the horse’s back so he would have to hold her. His hands immediately surrounded her and protected her from falling. She placed a hand on his lightly-whiskered cheek and smiled. His eyes stared into hers briefly before he shifted her back atop her horse’s back. Isabella enjoyed the moment while it lasted.

Back on the trail, they rode for a few leagues before stopping. He didn’t speak to her which left her to her maddening thoughts. Though he was somewhat reserved, she sensed there was something more that caused him not to want to bed her. Whatever it was probably had nothing to do with her. She felt much better about the situation when that thought entered her mind.

They rode until the sun was high overhead. Declan pulled his horse to a stop. “We’ll let the horses rest a bit,” he told her. “If ye need some privacy, that copse will do, lass. It’ll be safe. There’s no one about.”

She wondered how he knew this, and suspected Declan must’ve traveled through the area on his treks to Edinburgh. She used the opportunity to stretch her legs and relieve her needs, trading places to hold the horses while he did the same. There was no other conversation. Declan was a man of scant words apparently, and she was getting to know him, what little he showed of himself.

After a brief respite from riding, they continued. Isabella turned her attention to the scenery and discovered she enjoyed the beauty of the land they traipsed. The woodland seemed to grow sparser the more north they rode. Hills and meadows lay before them and in the distance, mountainous peaks rose to touch the sky. Newly sprouted flowers sprinkled the open areas where the grass was beginning to take over the fields. Isabella had always enjoyed the rebirth of nature when spring came. At least she’d had something to view on the laborious journey.

Toward early evening, he sidled next to her. “We’ll stop here for the night.” He dismounted and approached her.

When his hands settled on her waist, he snatched her from her horse as if she weighed nothing and lowered her to the ground. Isabella gasped at his quick movement. She put her hands on his shoulders and sagged against him until she could support herself on her wobbly legs. Isabella took longer than necessary so she could enjoy the feel of his muscles pressed against her body and the tingles she’d experienced whenever he touched her. She breathed in his scent—horse, and man, and yet, it was appealing, making her want him all the more.

They had stopped by a stream, and she made use of a nearby bush for privacy. On her return, she found him resting by a tree. He had started a fire and wrapped his tartan over his body. Isabella sat across from him, disheartened that he hadn’t offered to share the warmth of his tartan. She was cold and shivered at the thought of having to sleep outside. Her cloak offered a little protection from the cold, but she suspected her husband’s body would be much warmer.

Declan unfastened his scabbard, pulled his sword free, and set it beside him. His sword was quite large and hefty given the thickness of the iron blade. She’d never seen a longsword akin to his. His sword had a cross-hilt with capped arms that ended in quatrefoils to protect his hands. There were no adornments to it such as jewels or embellishments on the blade. The wide blade didn’t appear too sharp, but thick enough to cause great injury. Isabella shook her head at the image of him using it in battle or against a foe. He likely knew how to protect them given the size of his weapon and that he frequently traveled the area.

“Do ye wish to share my tartan? There’s a wee bit of a nip this night.”

A wee bit? It was bloody freezing. Before he might rescind his offer, Isabella hurried to sit with him. She was grateful he’d offered to share his tartan, but more pleased that she could cuddle next to him. Declan shimmied toward her and pulled the tartan over them.

“You are cold. Here,” he said and wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her tighter against him. “Share my warmth.”

She wanted to share more than that but refrained from saying so. “How is it you are warm and I’m cold?”

He grinned and with his free arm, poked at the fire. “I’m used to the temperatures here in the north. This is a mild evening. You’ll get used to it, Wife.”

Isabella relaxed against him. She was lulled by the fire and his warmth and snuggled against his hard body. As usual, a thrill swept over her body from the places they touched to her extremities. She tilted her head back and watched his face. He seemed oblivious to her subtle signals. So Isabella reached to touch his chin and turned his face to look at her. “Declan…”

“Aye, Wife?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Wife’?”

“To remind myself that I’m married.”

What an unfeeling thing to say. He was a cad. She took a breath to settle her temper because it was becoming more difficult to keep from being outspoken. Isabella wanted to tell him what she thought of his inane comment, but instead, she said, “I’m so insignificant that you need to remind yourself that you married me?”

Declan leaned forward and turned to peer at her. “Ah, nay, lass, I did not mean it like that.”

“Then why won’t you at least kiss me?”

“You want to be kissed?”

Lord above, she drew in a deep breath. The man needed to be hit over the head. “Never mind. It seems my wishes don’t matter. And just so you know, I preferred to be called Isabella, not Wife.”

Declan took hold of her face, and his large hand cupped her neck. He pressed his lips on hers and then yanked her body to his. Isabella’s heart skipped several beats. His hard manly lips covered hers and he used his tongue to get her to open her mouth. She touched her tongue to his and moaned softly at the exquisite sensations swarming her body. Their kiss was much more affecting than the modest peck he’d given her after their vows. But it ended too soon when Declan pulled away.

“Now get some sleep, Wife . We will set out early.”

She scrunched her eyes in objection to him calling her wife again. “How much farther do we need to travel, Husband ?” Isabella couldn’t help but pout at the thought of another long day’s ride. She wasn’t one to complain but she ached all over and was exhausted. A harrumph escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

He sighed a heavy breath and likely surmised her annoyance. “Another day or so. We should reach home by tomorrow night or mayhap the following morn. It depends on how fast we travel.”

It was probably the most he’d ever spoken to her at once and she reveled in the sound of his voice. Isabella nodded. “I shall do my best to keep up.”

She closed her eyes and relaxed, feeling protected. The sensations, the tastes, and the feeling of their kiss continued to fill her thoughts. If bedding Declan was as pleasurable as that kiss, then she was in for a passionate experience.