Page 9 of Claimed Highland Brides

8

JEALOUSY AND ENVY

F iona jerked awake, an idea fully formed in her mind. She would go to her uncle and beg him to choose someone else for her to marry. The man she had met yesterday was not just repulsive to behold, he also had the coldest eyes she had ever seen. His touch was almost reptilian and she struggled not to shudder for the duration that he had her hands between his own.

He also had exhibited no shame as he blatantly looked down the decolletage of her gown. Although she had worn a modest brown gown with a square neckline, he still made her feel as if she was stripped naked before him. The thought of him touching her everywhere had her wanting to burst into frantic tears.

Uncle Donnchadh will have to listen to me. I cannot entertain any other outcome or I am doomed before I ask . I am not obligated to marry that man. I was supposed to do so because my Uncle said he was a good choice.

She turned to her maid. “Julieta? Please hand me my emerald-green gown wi’ the gold accents.”

The maid looked surprised. “I thought ye would save that one frae yer engagement dinner. Ye ken yer uncle will likely haud one soon.”

“I dinnae care. I wish tae wear it the noo.”

Julieta blinked at her a few times. “Verra weel, Miss Douglass. As ye wish.” She curtsied with exaggerated care before going to the closet where she had hanged their clothes as she waited for Fiona to return from her meeting, and handed the gown over.

“Would ye like me tae steam it frae ye?”

“Aye.” Fiona sat at the armoire, brushing out her long hair.

Julieta watched her for a while, gown in her hand. “If’n ye wait ten minutes I can brush yer hair for ye.”

“Aye I ken tha’ dear Julieta. But I need something tae do while I wait frae ye tae finish.” She looked pointedly at the gown. “And this will do weel enough.”

Julieta jumped, coloring briefly as she stepped out of the room, dress in hand. She knew vaguely where the kitchens were from their tour the day before. She felt sure she could find a steamer there.

When she returned with the newly steamed gown, she found that Fiona was powdering her face; and had even added a little beauty mark with a piece of charcoal just above her jaw. She turned, smiling at Julieta as she tilted her head for inspection. “What d’ye think?” she asked, her verdant eyes gleaming with something Julieta could not identify.

“I think ye’re gilding the lily.” She shrugged at Fiona as she laid the gown on the bed. “Now come here and let me help ye wi’ this gown.”

She felt her hands shake with nerves as she walked down to breakfast but refused to let that deter her. Chin up, she opened the door and walked into the room. There was a loud silence as the two men who were sitting at the dining table froze. Her heart sank. She had hoped to have her uncle to herself. Fixing a smile on her face, she stepped forward and sat herself down on a chair as a servant pulled it back from the table. “Guid morning t’ye both,” she said breezily.

“My dear Miss Douglass...ye look quite...fetching this morning,” Mr. Hunter said.

Fiona nodded. “How kind o’ ye t’say.”

“Och, I should say quite a bit more if ye let me.” He smiled smarmily and nausea roiled in her belly. She turned her eyes to her uncle. “Have ye nae greetings frae me, Uncle?”

His smile was strained even as he bowed at her. “Guid morning my dear. I trust ye slept well?”

“Ah, the tiredness from the road had me sleeping like a bairn.”

“That is guid. Please help yersel’ tae some breakfast.”

“Thank ‘e Uncle.” She pulled the oatmeal porridge towards her and poured some in her bowl, eating slowly as she plotted on how to get her uncle alone.

Surely the other laird has some business elsewhere to attend to? Or I can ask for a word ?

“What are ye thinking about my dear? Ye shouldnae have such serious thoughts when we are tae be wed. I will take sufficient care o’ ye that ye never have tae think again.”

Fiona swallowed hard at the laird’s words, wondering how to tell him that she quite liked to think and had no plans to stop doing it. It was even more expedient that she speak to her uncle. Once she’d scraped the bottom of her bowl she got to her feet and smiled at her kin. “Uncle Donnchadh, may I have a word wi’ ye in yer office?”

He looked up, surprised, but got to his feet at once. “O’ course, Fiona. Come wi’ me.” He extended his elbow for her to slip into and they walked out of the dining hall, arm in arm. Fiona had worn the green gown because she knew how much it brought out the color of her eyes. She had heard Laird McCormick wax lyrical about the color of her mother’s eyes, and how much Fiona’s resembled them. She was planning to use that connection against him this morning and hoped that he could not resist.

He spoke only pleasantries as they walked, and she smiled politely in response. As soon as he closed the door to his study, she whirled on him. “Uncle Donnchadh?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I want to make a request o’ ye.”

“Gang ahead my dear.”

“Can ye chuse me another bridegroom? I dinnae want tae marry that laird. He gi’es me the cold grue,” she said miserably.

His eyes softened as he put his hands on her arms, squeezing gently. “Fiona...” His voice was soft and gentle, but regretful nonetheless. “’Tis already done. Mr. Hunter has already put up a substantial amount o’ money into this marriage. We cannae just back oot wi’out valid reason.”

“I dinnae want tae marry him!” Tears fell down her face as she looked up at him pleadingly. “Isnae that a valid reason?”

The laird laughed. “Nae. Ye ken verra weel that it isnae, Fiona. This isnae just a marriage, lassie. ’Tis a political alliance, a bond that goes beyond just the twa o’ ye. D’ye understand?”

Fiona looked down at her hands. “Aye. But…”

“There arenae any more buts, Fiona.” He surveyed her sadly.

“I cannae leave my sisters alone, Uncle Donnchadh. They need me. I’m all they have. Gi’ me a few more years, frae them tae be older, frae me tae be older. I’m barely oot o’ th’ schoolroom!”

Donnchadh smiled ruefully. “Ye ken yer nae too young Fiona. Why, my niece was marrit at four and ten and she’s a proud mother o’ three the noo. Ye just wait. He’ll have ye pregnant in nae time and ye’ll forget aboot all these objections.”

Fiona felt the bile rise up in her throat.

“I willnae be marrit if’n my sisters arenae here. Send frae them and when they arrive, we can set a wedding date.”

The laird nodded. “Verra weel. I shall send a carriage and a few escorts frae them richt awa’.”

Fiona nodded once. “Thank ‘e Uncle.”

“Ye’re welcome Niece.”

She turned around and walked off, shoulders slumped in defeat.

* * *

“There is something strange aboot this engagement. Wha’ is th’ rush?” Daividh downed his ale as he complained to his friend Simon, a Campbell from up north.

“Why d’ye even care? ’Tis none o’ yer business.”

Daividh snorted. “Perhaps it isnae but…” He shook his head, contemplating his tankard. “I cannae help but feel consairned.”

Simon leaned forward, his elbows on the table, grinning at Daividh. “Consairn eh? I havenae seen ye sae...consairned frae anyone since I’ve kenned ye.”

Daividh glared at him and took another swig of his drink. “Alrigh’ then, I may have a wee bit o’ a...uh, tendresse frae the lassie.”

Simon threw back his head and laughed. “Ye’re nae this much o’ a fool, Campbell. Ye ken better than this.”

Daividh nodded sadly. “Aye, I do. Yet, here I am.” He spread his hands out helplessly.

Simon sobered at once, his brow furrowing. “What will ye do then? Will ye elope? Ye could run off wi’ her.”

Daividh laughed scornfully. “What d’ye think this is? A fable frae the bairns?”

Simon sighed. “Dinnae take yer ire oot on me, Campbell. I was just tryin’ tae help.”

Daividh closed his eyes and deflated. “Forgive me. I am nae in the best temper.”

“Aye. Falling in love and finding oot yer lassie is slated tae marry someone else cannae be easy.”

“Nae, it isnae. Can we cease talking aboot this now? It isnae helping.”

“Aye, alright.”

They drank in silence for a while.

“But what d’ye think is strange aboot it?”

Daividh lifted an eyebrow.

“Ye said there was something strange aboot the engagement,” Simon clarified.

“Oh, aye. I tried tae speak tae the laird aboot it but he acted as if he was helpless. As if the marriage was oot o’ his hands. D’ye think that Laird Hunter has his foot on the McCormick’s neck?”

Simon leaned forward, looking interested. “Ye think sae? And what can we do tae find oot?”

Daividh sighed. “I dinnae ken.” He smirked. “Listen at doors?”

“We could talk to Hunter’s men. They might ken something.”

Daividh perked up at once. “Aye. We can start there. Guid idea Simon.”

“The question is, what will we do wi’ the knowledge when we have it?”

Daividh glared. “One step at a time, Simon.”

* * *

Fiona had changed into her brown utilitarian gown and gone out into the garden to see if she could help with the gardening. Julieta was in the kitchen, getting acquainted with the other servants and trying to discover the lay of the land. Fiona meant to speak with the other wives and sisters, to try and get a sense of what they thought of the Laird of Glendale, and maybe she might have an idea of how to handle her upcoming nuptials. If she also asked about Daividh Campbell and how he was regarded, that was nobody’s business but hers. She tried to be as discreet as possible but several of the women gave her knowing looks.

“He is savendie, tha’ one. Did he no bring ye safe frae Braenaird?”

“Aye. He did.”

The woman smiled. Fiona knew that she was sister to one of the crofters and she did not like the look of affection she had in her eyes when she spoke of Daividh. She made Fiona want to ask just how well the girl knew him, although she knew it was none of her business.

“Miss Douglass!” She looked up to see the laird of Glendale standing on the edge of the field, glaring at her. “What are ye up tae, doing peasants’ work? Come awa’ frae there at once. No wife o’ mine is gonny work like a serf.”

Fiona stood frozen, feeling embarrassed to have been spoken to in such a way in front of the other women who were undoubtedly the serfs Mr. Hunter was referring to. He lifted his hand and gestured impatiently for her to go to him. “Come the noo, Miss Douglass. What are ye waiting for?”

Someone touched her hand and she looked down to see the woman she’d been speaking to, sympathy in her eyes. She squeezed Fiona’s hand and then removed the small shovel from her hand. “Ye should gang,” she whispered.

Fiona nodded woodenly and jerkily began to make her way to the edge of the field. She felt the burning sensation of eyes upon her and turned her head to see Daividh glaring from the other side of the field, his hand on his sword. She hesitated, staring at him as he stared back.

“Miss Douglass!” Mr Hunter called sharply and she jumped, and resumed walking. She could not help sneaking glances at Daividh, who stood straight and thunderous, like the wrath of God. Her hand was grabbed painfully at the wrist and she made a sound of distress. From her periphery, she saw Daividh start towards them looking as if he wanted to grab her wrist out of Laird Hunter’s hand.

The laird turned, dragging her along behind him, looking annoyed. “Ye must learn yer place young lady. Ye cannae be running wild anymore. No wife o’ mine will behave in such a manner.”

“I am not yet yer wife!” Fiona spat.

He stopped short, so fast that she almost ran into him. He turned to face her, his face hot and red with anger. “I beg yer pardon?”

“I said...I am not yet yer wife. So I will thank ‘e no tae manhandle me.”