Page 3 of Bride takes a Scot

“My thanks, Sire.”

Alexander raised an auburn eyebrow and Declan thought he might have winked at him. He shook his head and disbelieved the king was being amiable because it was well known that Alexander was temperamental and had an unpleasant nature. Though he was young, he handled the country’s parliamentary lords and gained many of their respect. Yet he hadn’t won over the clans of the Highlands yet.

“I should tell you, MacKendrick, before you leave…You won’t be disappointed with the ladies I have selected as the brides. I have found the bonniest women in Scotland, and I bid you to remember that when the time comes to take your vows. You’ll have a hard decision to make, choosing one of the brides.”

Chapter Two

Corstorphine Village

Midlothian, Scotland

March 1260

Isabella Forrester spentall morning toiling over various pots and tying herbs to hang about Madam Bedelia’s cottage. Most of her mornings were spent learning the healing methods Madam was renowned for. As a close friend to her grandmother, the aged, white-haired woman offered to teach her the correct methods of dispensing medicinals and stitching wounds to avoid infection. She’d learned how to ease the pain from broken bones to the minor discomfort of an ailing stomach. A stern teacher, over time Madam’s blue eyes now more often softened when Isabella answered her questions accurately.

She was proud to possess such skills, mainly because her mother objected to the pursuit of healing. Mother often remarked that healing was an improper skill for a wife and that it was best left to the servants or others. If only her mother knew the lengths she’d gone to gain such wisdom, she’d probably scold her for days. But Isabella disregarded Mother and she learned the healing practices mainly to aid her father or his men, who often returned home injured from a night of revelry.

Isabella first began her lessons at the age of five and for nearly fifteen years, she’d surpassed most of Madam’s tests. Unbeknownst to her mother, Isabella only stayed in the villageuntil the sun rose high enough to indicate it neared midday. That’s when her mother typically rose and left her bedchamber.

Still, it was easy to lose track of time when she was intently listening to Madam’s instruction. Midday had passed, and in haste, Isabella bade Madam farewell and sprinted toward home. She had to get inside the manor before her mother noticed her absence.

Fortunately, her mother hadn’t risen yet and she rushed up the steps to her bedchamber. There, she changed her garments because she was certain she smelled like the herbs she’d tied in bundles most of the morning.

Men’s shouts came from the great hall on the lower level of her home. Isabella derided the cheers and scoffed at their blatant sinful behavior. The hunting party had returned early and with apparent success, evidenced by the men’s mirthful mood. Isabella hoped they hadn’t harmed anyone whilst raiding their neighbors. Though her father had told her he’d gone hunting, she was well aware that really, he’d been thieving. Stolen sheep, cattle, and other valuables were one thing, but harming or taking the life of a person was an entirely different matter. She had spent her first waking moments in the chapel, praying for God’s forgiveness for her father and his men’s wretched behavior. Had it all been for naught?

As quickly as she could, Isabella re-garbed herself and ran a comb through the soft waves of her blond hair. She slipped on her boots and tugged a shawl around her shoulders. In her haste to join her family in the hall, she had forgotten to grab her satchel of medicinals. Surely one of her father’s followers needed aid. It was unlikely they’d returned unscathed from their dubious mission.

Isabella snatched the pouch from the side table in her bedchamber and tucked it under her arm. With quick steps, she left her room to march through the keep until she reached thehall and found the trestle table filled with her father’s closest men, all of whom thieved. She set the pouch on a side table and moved farther into the great hall.

“Look at the lot of you,” she said accusingly with a waggle of her finger. “You’re all sotted already and have only returned. Supper hasn’t even been put on the table and you’re well into your cups. What did you take this time?”

Her father, Lord Adam Forrester, laughed garishly. “Be not hostile, my dearest daughter…”

“Youronlydaughter, I remind you. And do not ‘dearest daughter’ me. Just tell me this: did you hurt or kill anyone? Have I wasted time on my knees in the chapel for naught?” She set her hands on her hips and glared at her father in wait for his answer.

“Now, now, sweet lass, we only took a cart full of sheep. None were harmed, I vow.”

“But it was a merry time,” Joseph, her father’s steward, said with a grin.

Isabella scowled harshly at Joseph and then at her father. Her father’s short dark hair stuck out and it appeared he hadn’t bathed in days, given the smudges of dirt on his lightly whiskered cheek. Along with that, her father’s garments were filthy and smelled of sheep excrement and Lord knew what else. To her relief though, he appeared uninjured, as well as his followers. She wouldn’t have need of her medicines or skills today, praise God. As usual, however, she needed to remind her father of the perils of his entertainment.

“One day you’re going to get caught. I worry that you will be hurt or worse, imprisoned. You’ll all be swinging from the gallows one day for your thievery. I would beg ye to cease, but you are all too bull-headed to listen.”

Her father thought she was jesting and bellowed a laugh as did the rest of his men.

Isabella wished her brother wasn’t off fighting at the behest of the English king because he might help to sway their father from his sinful thievery. When Christopher had heard that King Henry of England would send more men on a crusade, her brother left home to join the cause. If only King Louis of France hadn’t lost the battle in Levant. Now her brother was off fighting a noble war on behalf of the Pope. Christopher was extremely devout and sided with her on the matter of their father’s thievery.

At the thought of Christopher her heart ached because she doubted that she’d ever see her brother again. Few returned from the crusades, and many had perished in the battles against the infidels. To her, though, warring against anyone was sinful regardless of their beliefs.

“Isabella, you know we like to raid, and no one ever holds us to account for it. It is just our way, daughter. Our neighbors expect a little thievery from time to time, just as we do. Cease nagging me about it. It’s all respectable.”

“Respectable? You should all be praying to God for His forgiveness. Thievery is sinful, Father, and I remind you to seek the confessional soon. I cannot believe Mother allows you to steal from our neighbors.” Isabella ambled across the hall and poured herself a small cup of wine. She was about to sit next to her father when her mother made her way into the hall.

Lady Joan Forrester’s beauty was renowned, and her father had said he’d fallen in love with her the moment he had set eyes on her. Isabella didn’t believe such a thing was possible. There was no such thing as love at first sight or even love, for that matter. That people professed such nonsense humored her. She was more pragmatic in her view of marriage and courtship.

“Darling, sit up straight. You shouldn’t hold your cup like that. It’s unladylike.” Her mother pressed a hand over the strands of her blond hair. “You must take better care of yourhair. My maid should fix it for you. And why in heaven’s name would you wear that wretched old gown?”

Isabella didn’t answer because her mother didn’t expect her to do so. Instead, she set her cup down and sighed at her mother’s reprimand. The “old gown” was a favorite of hers and she wore it as soon as it was laundered. She didn’t care to put her hair in coifs, braids, or even pull it up. Instead, she preferred to let her hair flow down her back. So what if it got tangled and straggly by day’s end?