Page 3 of Claimed Highland Brides

2

A JOURNEY FRAUGHT

D aividh had been shocked when he laid eyes on the lassie. His body had gone simultaneously cold and hot and he’d felt dizzy. His fingers tingled with the need to touch, his trews felt too tight. But he tried to show nothing.

He had barely registered the presence of the other girl. His mind had been consumed with her untidy red curls, escaping haphazardly from beneath her cap. Her curiously intelligent large clear verdant gaze skewering him where he stood. Her slender frame came almost to his shoulders. If he wanted to kiss her, all he’d have to do was lower his head.

It angered him to feel this way about a stranger and consequently, he was short with her. For a moment, he’d both hoped and dreaded that she was the one he’d come for. Spending two days alone on the road with her would be a true test of his mettle. She was the laird’s niece and no doubt used to soft living. There could be no way she would even consider him.

It made him strangely bitter and bad-tempered. He was ashamed to admit that he took it out on her.

Now as they rode out of her compound, he briefly regretted his behavior but was helpless to think of a way to repair it without revealing his unfortunate reaction to her. He rode ahead, battling his demons, fighting his body’s instincts. On one hand, he wanted to turn his head back and smile at her, reassure her that they would arrive at her uncle’s without problems. On the other hand, he wanted to growl at her for agreeing to go with him without demur.

She was heading towards a betrothal? The laird had no sons. Who did he mean for her to marry? He felt a bolus of bitter bile in his throat as he thought about it.

Why am I so annoyed by this ? Could it be because this is a waste of my time and skills ?

Daividh nodded to himself, deciding that he had found his answer. He was a warrior, a mercenary, a soldier of war. It was not his job to fetch recalcitrant brides-to-be. Where was the groom? Why could he not fetch her himself?

Who is he?

Daividh found that that question burned him as deeply as the acid in his throat.

“Have ye met my betrothed? D’ye ken who he is?”

The question startled him in its unexpectedness. He turned to her, a sneer on his face. “Ye’re off tae wed a person whose name ye dinnae even ken?”

Her voluminous eyes, as vitally green as a freshly watered garden, stared at him with reproach. He could not look at her for too long for fear he might truly drown in them. He looked away, shaking his head. “Yer kin dinnae even tell me ye were betrothed. How was he tae tell me the identity of yer intended?”

She huffed a breath and he was tempted to look back at her and see her expression but he restrained himself. “Nae need frae all this rudeness. I was just asking.”

Daividh closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get himself in hand. Ever since he’d come into her presence, he had felt off-kilter and disoriented, as if someone had hit him quite hard in the head with the hilt of a claymore. He was still reeling.

It was disconcerting.

It made him even more morose than he otherwise would have been. However, he was Daividh Campbell, the best warrior on Laird Dunavar’s payroll. He would not let his emotions rule him. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the impact of gazing upon her again, he turned and pasted a smile on his face. “Forgive me. Ye’re correct. There is no call fer me tae be rude. I must be more tired than I realized.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly as her eyes widened. “Oh...well...erm, that is good of ye to say. I did offer ye refreshment and rest.”

“Ye did. And please, I am nae trying tae blame ye for my ill-mannered oafish behavior. Just the opposite in fact. I am apologizing frae letting my fatigue affect my nature.”

Her lip quirked up on the left side, and he found his eyes drawn to the lushness of her mouth. “Are ye saying ye’re usually better behaved?”

“Aye. I am,” he said dazedly, his eyes still stuck on her mouth.

What is wrong with me ?

He did not want to think that he might be desirous of having her for himself. Not when she’d just informed him that she was betrothed to someone else. For the first time, he understood the need and was grateful for the silent presence of the maid. If they had been alone, heaven only knew what he might have been tempted to do. The lure she represented to him was potent and unprecedented.

He shifted uncomfortably on his seat, trying to find a comfortable position in his hardened state. This will absolutely not do , he thought with despair.

Even without the prospect of her engagement hanging over them, he had nothing to offer her. It was an impossible dream and he had no idea why he should be having it at this time.

Why now? Why her ?

Daividh had left his home in the lowlands at twelve years old, in search of fortune and adventure. He was one of six children, a middle child, with no prospects for an inheritance, no chance to join the clergy or apprenticeship, no chance to earn a living through study. That winter had been harsh and the land barely produced enough to keep them alive, let alone trade for other things they needed.

And so when the Watch came around looking for recruits, Daividh volunteered at once. His mother had cried many tears but his father stood stoic, knowing that it was the right thing to do. There was nothing for Daividh in Craigmuir, no hope for the future. Better he tried his fortunes elsewhere.

His time with the Watch had been short but instructive. He had learned to use a claymore, to track, and ride a horse. Pretty soon, the lure of adventure had him changing allegiance, becoming a sellsword for a liege lord on the promise of a share in the spoils of his raids. As his prowess increased, he moved on to lords, to lairds, and finally landed at Dunavar.

Before this day, he would have said he was content with his lot but that was before this woman had come into his life and turned it on his head.

Now he wanted things he couldn’t possibly have and everything was a bumblebroth of epic proportions. He could not understand how things could possibly turn on the head of a pin in such a way, even having lived the life he had.

In his six and twenty years of travails he’d seen friends and family die, he had been present at birthings, he had killed with his own hand. For sure, all of those experiences had changed him in fundamental ways. But nothing felt as impactful as looking in Fiona’s eyes.

Daividh was at a complete loss of what to do.

“Will we stop for the night?” Fiona asked.

“Of course we shall. We cannae ride through the night without risk and we arenae sae far behind that we have tae risk it.”

She nodded curtly and turned away. Daividh had the feeling his apology had not had the intended effect.

* * *

Fiona watched the soldier from beneath her lashes, admiring the way he sat on his horse even as his brusqueness annoyed her. She was taken aback by his apology, which seemed to come out of the blue. Exchanging glances with Julieta, she lifted a puzzled eyebrow at her lady’s maid, wondering why the soldier was like this. Julieta hid a giggle in her tartan shawl and looked away lest she burst out laughing. It made Fiona smile and she waited with bated breath to hear what else he might say to her.

She was disappointed when they rode on in silence, the soldier fidgeting in his seat as if he might have harbored ticks in his trews. The thought of that made Fiona want to giggle again but she restrained herself with effort. She wanted him to take her seriously and it was clear to her that he did not. Perhaps it was that she was young, just having seen eighteen summers, and he was clearly much older than that.

There was nothing she could do about that except show him that she was capable of comprehending the concerns he had. That she was able to take care of herself. For some reason, she wanted his respect, his kind regard, his admiration. He was clearly capable and efficient, a man of worth.

She was slightly disappointed that he was not, in fact, her intended. Even when his manner was short and he behaved discourteously, she was mortifyingly aware of him. The dangerous grace with which he moved made her stomach twist into knots. The storm in his sky blue eyes made her shiver in reaction, her hands shaking slightly at his piercing glance. His hands were so big and capable-looking, callused no doubt from wielding his almighty claymore.

Even as she frowned and narrowed her eyes at him, pursed her lips, and disapproved of his manner, she could not help but be swept up by his proximity. Her reaction to him was nothing less than shocking and disconcerting.

It must be because I have not seen a man like him in a long time .

Her father kept sellswords when they were younger but his kin, Uncle Donnchadh, had persuaded him to disband them.

“Ye dinnae need them, remote as ye are. If’n ye need any assistance, I should be glad tae send my men tae help.”

Her uncle did not know she had overheard that conversation. Yet when her father had been set upon by brigands on his way home from Dunavar, Uncle Donnchadh’s men were nowhere in sight. He had been alone with just a coachman and tiger. It was a bone she fully intended to pick with her uncle even though she knew that fighting with him would not bring her father back.

“Will we stop for the night?” she asked, tired of being alone with her thoughts and his quiet distant presence.

He turned to look at her, his eyes dark with an emotion she could not name. “Of course we shall. We cannae ride through the night without risk and we arenae sae far behind that we have tae risk it.”

She nodded, feeling disappointed by his answer and his eagerness to deliver her to her intended. She could not fathom why it should annoy her so, but it did.

They found an inn not far from Drummacree which sat about halfway between Braenaird Keep and Dunavar Castle. It was not much of an inn; it barely had stables for the horses and only a few bedchambers behind the dining hall.

Mr. Campbell called for soup and bread for their supper and they ate in relative silence. The room was packed with men in various states of inebriation, who watched them as if they were prey. Fiona could understand why Mr. Campbell was reluctant to speak in such company and why Julieta huddled close, not lifting her eyes from her plate.

When supper was done and the innkeeper led them to their rooms, she was less tolerant when Mr. Campbell insisted on giving them a lecture as if they were still babes.

“This is a dangerous place. Those men out there cannae be relied upon tae be gentlemen and so ye’ll gang tae yer room and lock the door behind ye. Ye shallnae come oot until morning. D’ye understand me?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I have no hearing impairment, nor am I a child. Ye cannae tell me what tae do.”

“I can and I have and ye will mind me if ye ken what’s good for ye.” He pointed an admonishing finger in her face, which was the last straw. She stepped back and slammed the door in his face.

* * *

Daividh sighed at the door before turning away to head back to the bar. He was so very tired of having to deal with Miss Douglass and her high and mighty ways. In retrospect, it might have been a good thing that they were not meant to be. If she were his wife, he might be tempted to strangle her.

He went back to the bar and ordered another tankard of ale, drinking it in a brooding fashion as he kept an eye on the corridor leading to his charge’s rooms. He would not put it past any of the men to attempt entry.

He managed to finish the tankard without having to fight anyone and got up with relief. He would spend the night outside her door, where he could keep an eye on her. He walked slowly down the corridor and came to a stop outside her door. Knocking softly, he listened for any sound from inside.

Perhaps they have slept already.

He tried the door to see if it was locked and to his surprise, it opened easily. Even more to his shock, the room behind it was completely empty.