Highlander's Deception (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 3

  “’Tis all right,” Sloane said carefully. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around the notion that this man was going to be her husband.

  “All right?” Maggie sounded far more distressed. “Lachlan, what are ye talking about?”

  Lachlan was still staring at Sloane, so it was his father who spoke. “To broker the peace between Brisbane and Fenton, Lachlan has agreed to marry Sloane in two days and after the mourning period is over, Freya will marry Brisbane.”

  The room was quiet and Sloane felt everyone staring at her. She hated it. The servants had always told her that she was lovely and when her father finally chose a husband for her, the man would be lucky. Ever since she’d reached the age of sixteen, she’d waited for the announcement. Now, at twenty, Sloane assumed her father had dismissed the thought of marrying her. She couldn’t untangle the fear and excitement that coiled in her belly and she hardly felt like the beautiful bride. They were staring at her like she was a stain on the floor.

  Dear Lord, she’d accused him last night of belittling his future wife. Now she was to be that future wife.

  “Sloane?” Maggie said finally. “Are ye all right?”

  “Of course.” Turning her head, she smiled at the woman who would soon be mother-in-law. “I have always known that I would marry for the good of the clan. Now, I will marry for peace. I am sure that you three have much to discuss. If ye will excuse me, I will be in my room. I am sure my father will come to me soon enough and let me know what he expects from me.”

  “I am to be yer husband,” Lachlan reminded her. “’Tis my expectations that ye should be waiting for.”

  Sloane colored even darker. She would bungle the whole thing up. “Of course. Would ye like me to not return to my chambers?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Mother. Would ye give me a minute of privacy?”

  “Lachlan,” Maggie said in a warning tone.

  “A minute, if ye please,” he snapped.

  She looked hesitantly at Sloane before she nodded her head and left the room. Alone with the man who would be her husband, Sloane clasped her hands in front of her body. “You doona have to point out the irony of the situation. I am well aware that I accused ye of being a poor husband last night and now, ye are to be my husband.”

  Lachlan smirked. “’Tis not what I wanted to discuss with ye. As my wife, ye will be mistress of my keep. As the daughter of the Laird, ye should have that experience and yet, ye take all yer cues from yer father. Normally, I would see that as obedience, but in this case, I fear that yer father has done nothing to train ye.”

  Swallowing hard, she turned her head and averted her eyes. He was blatantly pointing out that she would make an unsatisfactory wife. “If ye are so unhappy with me as a wife then perhaps ye should choose someone else,” she grumbled.

  “I didna say that ye were unsatisfactory and I doona have a choice to take ye as a wife. I am trying to prepare ye for what to expect,” he said calmly.

  “Perhaps ye should be taking into account yer own expectations,” she muttered under her breath, but there was a fire in his eyes and she knew that he heard. “Perhaps I am not so inexperienced as ye might think. While ’tis true that I have no formal training in how to run a castle, much less a castle of this size, my own company were the servants of the keep. I understand their positions better than I understood my own. I should have no trouble learning the flow.”

  “True as that might be, I doona need someone who understands the servants. I need someone who understands how to organize the servants and that is an entirely different thing. Freya has been acting as the mistress of the keep since my mother’s mobility was hindered by her age. The two of them will teach ye what ye need to know.”

  “Verra well.”

  “I willna be adding a lock, Sloane.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she planted her hands on her hips. “I didna expect a man like ye to change yer mind about anything.” She tried to move past him, but he reached out and snagged her arm. “Ye will excuse me. I have much to do before my wedding.”

  “Is that a demand?”

  “Of course not. I wouldna demand anything of the man who would be my husband. ’Tis merely a request.”

  With a sigh, he released her arm. “Ye may go where ye wish, Lady Sloane. I will speak to ye later.”

  “Of course.” Bending into a curtsy, she turned and fled.

  3

  “Married.”

  Lachlan’s four closest friends and guards gaped at him from the armory. The wide stone tower was sparse in everything but weapons. Along the wall, swords, axes, crossbows, and dirks hung from the floor up to the nine-foot ceiling. Four cannons stood side-by-side as polished as the day that they were made. The armory was close to the blacksmith and he checked on the weapons daily to make sure that they were sharp and clean.

  Lachlan was spoiling for a little activity to help ease some of the tension in his chest. Sloane’s reaction to marrying him confounded him. Shock and then decided resignation. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Quite a few women married out of duty, so she had to know that at some point, she would be wed to a stranger, but her quiet submission bothered him. He couldn’t help but wonder what was simmering just below the surface.

  Blaine was the unhappiest. Lachlan had already spoken to him at length about wedding his sister, Kenzy. “I am sorry,” Lachlan told his friend quietly. “I want ye to know that I didna plan this.”

  The large Highlander nodded shortly. “Aye. Clan politics can be brutal. I will speak to Kenzy about this. She will understand, and we will find another suitable match.”

  “Thank ye.” At least that was something off his plate. His parents both thought he was making a mistake getting so involved with the Fenton family. Even Freya seemed upset which he didn’t understand. She had feelings for the man that she would wed, he was certain of it, and yet she’d stomped off in a temper when he’d tried to talk with her about it.

  “I am not sure the Fenton woman is all there,” Adair mused. “I tried to speak to her that first night and she looked at me and turned bright red. All I did was greet her.”

  Doug snorted as he twirled one of the pike’s casually. “I saw her slipping back to her chambers and she was pale as a ghost. I feared she was not more than a figment of my imagination”

  Haunting the keep. Lachlan mulled the notion over thinking that the phrase wasn’t quite right. Sloane didn’t seem like she was haunting anything except his dreams, but she was obviously used to being on her own. Maggie had told him that she’d lost her mother as a child, but after that, there was almost no mention or sighting of Sloane.

  “Consider yerself lucky,” Blaine muttered. “I said hello to her and she peppered me with questions on the history of the MacFarlane seal. When I tried to sneak away, she started in on our colors. I wasted an hour trapped with her in the hall.”

  An interesting woman indeed. She acted as if she were two different people. One quiet and submissive and the other bold and inquisitive. It was strange that Errol had kept such a beauty hidden away rather than flaunting her among the clans. She had the kind of face that men would beg to marry. He could have used her while they were working on the original treaty between Fenton and Brisbane. Errol could have kept his little slice of the land and Gair could have married into the family.

  “She seems fragile, but she is also untrained,” Lachlan admitted. “I will ask that ye four make her feel welcome. Adair, I am hoping that yer wife will be friendly with her. According to Freya, Sloane is not used to company, but I willna have my wife hole up in the keep like a prisoner.”

  Adair shrugged. “I will say something to her, but Elspeth has a mind of her own. Bloody stubborn woman.”

  A smile tugged at Lachlan’s lips. He knew that Elspeth’s strong will was one of the reasons that Adair was so crazy about her. “I have spoken to Father Shaw. He is displeased about performing a marriage ceremony so soon after burying Quinn, but I have convinced him to do so without adding any addit
ional unpleasant commentary.” Father Shaw had a reputation for being overly opinionated about the Highland warrior lifestyle. Lachlan had to resort to threats to make sure that Shaw didn’t include any of those unpleasant commentaries about Quinn.

  A pained expression crossed Adair’s face. “When Elspeth refused to wed me despite yer father’s decree, Shaw nearly walked out right then and there. He then accused me of catting around before he finished the ceremony. Needless to say, my wedding night was a cold affair after that.”

  Laughter rippled through the group. Jamie, the youngest of them, reached up and pulled one of the swords off the wall. “Doug, I see ye have a hankering to smack some wood around and I need a challenge after so easily taking down our Highland allies. Care for a little swordplay?”

  Grinning, Doug replaced the pike and grabbed his own sword. “Aye, but it will be a shame to scar that pretty face before the Laird’s wedding.”

  “Even if ye manage to land a blow, doona think it will help ye with the ladies.” Jamie winked. “I have been told my face was carved by angels. I doona think a nick will change that.”

  Rolling his eyes, Lachlan grabbed his own weapon. “Men. Time to see if ye are all boast.”

  Two hours later and dripping with sweat, Lachlan banished his men to patrol before they bathed as punishment for losing to him before heading to the creek to bathe before dinner. To his surprise, when he got there, he found that he wasn’t alone.

  Sloane, fully clothed in a thin gray dress, removed her shoes, picked up her skirts and cautiously stepped in the water. She gasped suddenly and grinned. Captivated by the first genuine smile he’d seen from her, Lachlan was rooted to the spot.

  His betrothed was in no danger. If she waded to the deepest part, the creek would be no higher than her knees and the small current was hardly enough to knock her down. Slowly, she moved a little further in the water and began to giggle.

  It was as if she’d never been in the water before.

  If he were a gentleman at all, he would call out to her and let her know that she wasn’t alone. Instead, he moved back into the tree line and watched. The golden hues of the setting sun bathed her skin in an orange glow and as she stood in the middle of the creek, she closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun.

  A strange peace settled over her face and a hunger grew inside of him. She could be no more beautiful than the goddesses of his ancestors and tomorrow, she would belong to him. The curves of her body which became more and more apparent as the water splashed up and dampened her dress were that of a woman and yet, her face was as open as a child. There was an innocence about her that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

  Realizing that he was invading what seemed like a private moment, he backed deeper into the woods and moved to another part of the creek. Alone, he stripped and stepped into the water and although it was ice-cold, it did nothing to ease the flame of desire inside of him.

  * * *

  There was a green and gold dress displayed on the bed in Sloane’s room. With a scandalously low-cut bodice and intricate lace and beadwork, it was the prettiest dress Sloane had ever laid eyes on. Closing the door behind her, Sloane stared at it. Since she had not packed with a wedding in mind, she was worried about having an appropriate dress for the ceremony. She didn’t want to let the Fenton people down by not representing them well, but apparently, someone had already thought of that.

  Moving closer to the bed, she leaned down and fingered the fabric. It was smooth and flowed through her fingers. She’d never felt such a soft fabric before. It felt like something created by magic.

  “Do ye like it?”

  Scared, Sloane whirled around saw Freya hiding in the corner.

  Lachlan’s sister smiled. “I didna mean to scare ye, but I wanted to see yer expression when ye saw the dress. Ye are hard to read, though.”

  “’Tis beautiful,” Sloane admitted. “Is it yers? I doona think that I should accept it. It must have cost a small fortune.”

  Freya moved forward and smoothed her hand over the dress. “’Tis mine. My mother made it for me last year when I was to marry, but my betrothed showed his true face at the last minute and my father refused to honor the agreement. The man was exiled from the clan for laying a hand on me. The dress is beautiful, but it doesna hold good memories for me. I think it will be lovely on ye. Ye are curvier than me, so I let out the bosom a little last night. If ye want to try it on, I can make some quick adjustments before this afternoon.”

  “Ye know needlework?” Sloane asked quickly when she reached for the tie on her dress. Used to dressing and undressing on her own, she made quick but awkward work of it as she stripped to her shift and stepped into the new dress.

  “Aye? Ye doona?” Freya asked as she stepped forward to help. “Consider yerself lucky. As a child, I despised it. My mother thought I would never pick it up. It wasna that I didna have the talent. It was that I couldna stand my teacher. The woman was overbearing.”

  Sloane felt like Freya was opening up to her, but she had no similar stories to share with her. “I doona like the idea of overbearing teachers, but I envy yer talents. Everything that I know, I learned on my own.” There were days when she wouldn’t have eaten if the servants hadn’t taken a liking to her. When they were busy, she learned to cook for herself. There were weeks when she didn’t see her father’s face and if she even mentioned wanting to do something, he laughed at her.

  So, Sloane read. She wandered aimlessly around the village and the keep. She dreamed. And she entertained herself with the tasks meant for the servants. Otherwise, she feared that she would go crazy in her isolation.

  “Well, ye are about to be mistress to the biggest clan on this side of the mountain, so ye will have to learn. Since I am not to be married for three months, it will be my pleasure to teach ye. And I promise not to be overbearing.” She walked around and studied the dress. “’Tis a good fit. Ye will make a beautiful bride.”

  Blushing, Sloane caught her reflection in the looking mirror. The dress was a good fit. She barely recognized the woman who was used to dressing in rags. “Thank ye,” she whispered. “I got the feeling last night that ye didna care much for me.”

  “I should apologize for that,” the other woman said carefully. “This is a difficult time for us, but I willna hold any resentments against ye. We are to be family and for the next three months, we will be side-by-side.”

  Sloane felt some kinship to the other woman who was marrying for peace. “I will appreciate that.”

  Freya grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Come. We will work on yer hair. When ye meet Lachlan outside the church, he willna know what hit him.”

  A couple of hours later, Sloane’s hair was braided and coiled elegantly at the base of her neck. Upon learning that Sloane was a reader, Freya had fetched her favorite book, one that Sloane had read many times, and the women were in a spirited debate over whether the real villain was the monster or the hunter. Freya argued that the hunter was protecting a village, but Sloane pointed out that the monster would never have stalked the villager had the hunter not chased it from its own sanctuary.

  It was not the first time she’d had the argument. The servants at her own keep could not read, so Sloane had read to them at night. Their lack of literacy did not dull their wit and they often debated book passages with Sloane, although this was the first time she’d been in a debate with someone as passionate as Freya. It did, momentarily, distract her from her fear of marriage.

  The knock at the door brought her firmly back to the present.

  When Sloane didn’t immediately go for the door, Freya opened it. Errol Fenton stood on the other side and he looked over the women coolly. “May I have a moment alone with my daughter?”

  “Of course, Laird Fenton.” Freya gave Errol a tight smile. “I need to check on the food preparation in any case. Sloane, my mother and I will escort ye to the church.”

  Without looking at Errol again, Freya hurried away. Sloane’s father stepp
ed inside and closed the door. “Where did ye get the dress?” he asked without much interest. It was a familiar tone. Sloane learned early on that there was little she could do to interest her father.

  As a child, she used to seek him out until she’d been punished for her inquisitive nature. Now, the only time she saw her father was when they passed each other in the hall or when he sought her out to learn of something about the servants. He offered no warmth or love. When he’d sought her out to tell her to pack for a trip, she’d been too surprised to question his motives.

  Now, she wondered if he would act the part of a loving father about to give away his only child.

  Nervously, Sloane picked at her skirts. “It belonged to Freya. She altered it last night to fit me. I am grateful. I had not packed with a wedding in mind.”

  “Hmm, I should have thought of that.”

  “Ye anticipated my marriage to Laird MacFarlane?”

  Without answering, Errol walked to the window and gazed out. “Look at them. All gathering at the church, all eager to see the MacFarlane Laird married. Ye would think that it was the king himself marrying.”

  Confused by her father’s flat tone, she joined him at the window and gazed up at his angry face. “Father, do ye dislike Laird MacFarlane?”

  “MacFarlane? He is fine enough. Young and still green in his lairdship. His father was a good man, although he was not strict enough with his daughter. Nay, MacFarlane will make ye a fine husband.” Turning his head, he stared down at Sloane. “Ye look like yer mother jest now.”

  Her father never spoke of her mother, so Sloane kept quiet and hoped that her father would continue, but he just turned his head out the window. “Father, I doona mean to speak out of turn, but I am not prepared to be a wife or a mistress. I doona know how to act or what to do. If I might have a three-month period like Freya…”