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Rabbie instantly shook his head. It is one thing for him to marry into an English family, but he would never wish that on his free-spirited younger sister, Catriona. “No,” he said firmly. “It must be me, aye?”
“No’ if you donna want it.”
“I donna want it,” Rabbie said. “But I’ll no’ leave Balhaire without hope.”
His father smiled sadly, patted Rabbie’s shoulder and then, leaning heavily on his cane, started for the door. “Then we’ll seal the betrothal tonight.” He paused in his trek across the study and glanced back. “Unless you say the word, lad. You need only say it.”
There was no word Rabbie could say—he was trapped like a mouse behind a door with a cat waiting on the other side, no way out but death. If he didn’t marry this woman, her father, who had bought Killeaven from the crown after the Somerleds had deserted it, would buy up lands around Balhaire, including those that had been abandoned by Mackenzies that had fled. Lands his family could not afford to purchase from the crown, not with their sea trade cut in half, their smuggling brought to a halt by war and the fact that there was no one left to buy their goods.
If the land around Balhaire was bought, and sheep installed, there would not be enough land to sustain the Mackenzies that were left. No land for food, no land for livestock. They were struggling to rebuild after the rebellion and the destruction it had wrought across the Highlands. If Rabbie took this Sassenach girl to wife, and Killeaven with her, the Mackenzies could at least control the erosion of their livelihood.
He truly had no choice.
* * *
THE BRIDAL PARTY had arrived with quite a lot of commotion. Sixteen in all, Frang, the butler, said—servants, the girl’s parents, an uncle, he thought. And a governess.
“A governess,” Rabbie repeated disdainfully. “Is the lass no’ seventeen years of age? Is she still in need of a governess?”
“Not a governess, precisely,” his mother said, patting his arm. “I’d venture she is a governess turned lady’s maid for lack of a better occupation.”
“What, then, am I to feed her, too?”
His mother frowned and managed to look elegant while doing it, a feat that he’d never seen matched in another woman.
Rabbie and his parents were in the great hall. They’d taken their places on the old dais above the tables, where Mackenzie lairds and their families had sat for two centuries. They could hear the arrival of the Sassenach, could hear the voices chattering merrily at the entrance. They watched silently as Aulay led the English contingent into the hall.
At the head of the Sassenach party was a tall, slender man with a face powdered as white as snow and who, judging by his dress, was the Baron Kent. He paused to glance around, his expression one of amazement, as if he’d never seen the inside of a castle. When Cailean and his wife, Daisy, had come a few months ago with the news of their discussions with Baron Kent, Daisy reported that Bothing, the Kent home, was quite grand. “Three stories tall, with long wings,” she’d said. “Grander than Chatwick Hall.”
Rabbie had never seen Chatwick Hall, but he’d noted the way Daisy’s eyes had widened and had supposed the Bothing place must be very grand indeed. Perhaps Balhaire was more rustic than what he’d anticipated. He wondered what the baron might expect of Killeaven, the estate he’d purchased sight unseen.
Aulay walked briskly to the dais ahead of the group. His blond hair had grown too long, and the sun had browned his face after so many days at sea. He looked leaner than the last time Rabbie had seen him. He swept his hat off his head and bowed to his parents, then spoke in Gaelic, greeting them both, and then Rabbie.
“So then,” his father responded in Gaelic. “How do you find them?”
“No trouble,” Aulay said with a shrug, and looked at Rabbie. “The lass is meek.”
Rabbie said nothing. He didn’t want a meek lass. If he had to do this, he wanted a woman. He looked to the group for a glimpse of the lass in question, but the only woman he noticed in that gaggle of Sassenach was one standing slightly apart from the group, leaning insouciantly against the wall. She was tall, dark-haired and plainly dressed. She’d crossed her arms across her middle and her gaze was fixed on the hound sniffing around her hem. She looked a wee bit as if she was inconvenienced, which he thought was rather odd. If anyone here was inconvenienced, it was certainly not she.
Rabbie’s father stood. “My lord, Ceud mile failte—welcome to Balhaire.”
“Bit of an unusual place you have here,” the man who looked like a ghost said as he strolled forward. Behind him, another man waddled after him like a fatted pig. Both of their wigs were ridiculous. “How good of you to receive us. I understand Killeaven is a bit of a drive yet from here?”
“Four miles through the hills,” Arran Mackenzie said. He picked up his cane and began to make his way down from the dais. In spite of that cane, Rabbie’s father was still a commanding figure, and he dwarfed Lord Kent. “You and yours are most welcome in our home tonight, aye? Rest here before carrying on to Killeaven.” He turned partially as Rabbie’s mother stepped off the dais to join them. “My wife, the Lady Mackenzie.”
His mother curtsied and greeted them. Kent turned quite jovial at the sight of his mother, no doubt pleased with her English accent and her beauty. He introduced the man with him as his brother, Lord Ramsey.
“May I introduce you to our son?” his mother asked pleasantly, and gestured toward Rabbie.
Kent’s head snapped round, and he eyed Rabbie through a squint as Rabbie came to his feet and began to make his way down from the dais. “Well then, you’re a fine specimen, are you not? As physically fit as your father and brother, I dare say. Look here, Avaline, here is your future husband,” he said, and turned back to his group.
Someone nudged the pitiful lass forward. She stumbled slightly, found her footing and curtsied. She had hair the color of barley, green eyes and cheeks flushed to the color of plums. She was a wee thing, and the only thought Rabbie could summon was that he would crush her on their wedding night. He’d have to put the virgin on top of him.
He approached the group. The lass would not look at him. “My lord,” he said to her father, and bowed. He glanced again at the girl, who had yet to meet his gaze.
“A strong young man,” Kent said, taking Rabbie in, nodding approvingly, as if Rabbie were a prized cow. “You’ll give me heirs, I dare say you will. May I present my daughter, Miss Avaline Kent of Bothing,” he said, and took his daughter’s arm, drawing her forward. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
Rabbie looked at her fair complexion. She was chewing her bottom lip. Her hands were quite small, suitable for nothing useful as far as he could see. “Bonny enough, I suppose, aye,” he said.
With the exception of the startled cough from the woman leaning against the wall, no one said a word for a moment.
And then Baron Kent laughed roundly. “Good enough!” he jovially agreed.
Rabbie’s mother managed a kick to his ankle. He moved forward lest she kick him again and presented his palm to receive Miss Kent’s wee little hand. “How do you, Miss Kent.”
“My lord—sir,” she said, and curtsied again, as if she hadn’t noticed his hand at all. And when she did sink into that curtsy, Rabbie happened to glance at the woman by the wall. She had dark hair, quite dark, like Rabbie’s sister, Vivienne. And hazel eyes. She was frowning at him, and not in an elegant way like his mother. And then she looked away, as if annoyed by him.
Rabbie was slightly shocked. Who was she to judge him? And what did she bloody well expect?
“Miss Kent, please, do come and sit. You must be exhausted,” Rabbie’s mother said, and took Miss Kent’s hand, pulling her away before wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“My wife. Where is my wife?” Lord Kent asked, as if he’d misplaced her somewhere. Another woman appeared from the huddled group. She was small and meek, too, her gaze downcast as she shyly greeted Rabbie’s mother.
For the love of Scotland, that’s who his bride would become.
Rabbie sighed heavenward as the English party was seated, and glanced over his shoulder, to where the mysterious woman had stood frowning at him as if he was a naughty child.
But the woman was nowhere to be seen. She’d just...disappeared.
“Rabbie, darling, perhaps you might sit with Miss Kent and put her at ease,” his mother said, her cheerful voice belying the murderous look in her eye.
“Aye,” he said, and reluctantly moved to the table where the wisp had been seated. He couldn’t help himself—he glanced back over his shoulder once more.
The woman with the dark hair and piercing hazel eyes was gone.
CHAPTER TWO (#u7b1b310b-874e-547b-9a13-37371e773316)
BERNADETTE HOLLY LOOKED around the dank room to which she’d been assigned. Or rather, the room to which Avaline had been assigned. Bernadette had been given the small antechamber attached to this room, where she was to sleep on a straw mattress so that she might serve her mistress in the event the girl couldn’t find the chamber pot in the middle of the night.
If Bernadette ever uttered such a thing aloud, one would think she was ungrateful for her position and disdainful of Avaline. Nothing could be further from the truth—she was grateful and she was not the least disdainful of Avaline. But she was a bit uncertain if the girl possessed a full head of brains.
The room was quaint if not medieval in its appearance, and quite drafty—Bernadette could feel the gusts of wind coming through the windows. She shivered and walked to the window, pushed aside the heavy brocade draperies, then sneezed at the dust collected in their folds. The window rattled with another gust of cold air, which seeped in around the edges of the old panes.
Bernadette leaned forward over the deep sill and looked out. The sun was just sliding down behind the hills, its golden light turning the hills red, which in turn cast dark green shadows onto bright yellow rapeseed.
She found the landscape stark and barren, but strangely beautiful. England was scenic country, too, but Bernadette had never seen anything quite so severe in its allure as this landscape.
Avaline, however, had found the land intimidating. Worrying a knot of ribbon at her waist, she’d stood beside Bernadette at the bow of the ship as it had glided toward the harbor earlier today. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone about. It looks...bleak.”
Behind Bernadette, the door of the room suddenly swung open, startling her. She dropped the drapes and turned around to see Avaline backing into the room, profusely thanking whomever had delivered her here. When she had gone well past the point of polite thanks, and the person had tried to dart away into the dark corridor, Avaline leaned forward, craning her neck around the doorframe. “Good night!” she called out, then shut the door very quietly, as if she feared she might disturb someone, and turned to Bernadette.
“Well?” Bernadette asked brightly. “How did you find him?”
Avaline looked as if she might collapse at any moment. But then again, Avaline often looked near collapse. “He’s so big,” she said in a near whisper.
He was certainly that. A tall, ruggedly built man, with very dark, cold eyes.
“Oh, Bernadette,” Avaline moaned, and staggered to the bed, sinking onto it. “I don’t know how I shall ever manage.”
“Now, now, you mustn’t despair,” Bernadette said, and moved to sit beside her charge. “It’s the first meeting, after all. Everyone is on tenterhooks. Mr. Mackenzie was undoubtedly as nervous as you,” she said kindly, although she sensed, having observed him, that the man hadn’t a single nerve in him. He’d appeared insouciant, overly confident and quite secure in his idea that he was much grander than the girl he was meant to wed. A rooster, if one wished to put a name to it.
“Do you really think so?” Avaline asked.
“Yes, of course.” That was not true—she didn’t believe it at all.
Neither did Avaline, and she fell over onto her side, distraught. “They are negotiating the terms of our betrothal now. My father and—and him, naturally, and his father, and his brother. He is so distant and he seems unfeeling, and yet his brother has been very kind, has he not?” she asked anxiously, pushing herself up again. “Don’t you think the captain is kind? I said as much to my mother, but she said I was not to think of him at all. I wasn’t thinking of him. I was merely pointing out that he seems kinder than his brother.”
“Where is your mother?” Bernadette asked curiously. She often lost track of Lady Kent, who was as quiet and unobtrusive as a mouse. Avaline was boisterous in comparison.
“She is with Lady Mackenzie somewhere in this huge and wretched place,” Avaline said morosely, and gestured lamely to the walls around them. “Lady Mackenzie bid me join them, but I begged her pardon and said I was so very tired after the journey, but really, Bernadette,” she said. “Really, I thought I might burst into tears if I remained another moment.”
“Then it’s good you came here,” Bernadette said, and put an arm around Avaline’s shoulders.
Avaline suddenly burst into tears and buried her face in Bernadette’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I must marry him!” she wailed.
Neither could Bernadette, frankly, but it was the way of things for a girl born to Avaline’s station in life. They married men who strengthened their families’ connections and made them all richer. “Men always appear much fiercer when they are unknown,” she said, patting Avaline’s back. “It’s natural for them to appear so.”
“It is?”
No, of course it wasn’t natural. Had the girl learned anything from Bernadette in the last six years? “Yes, always. They must preen and show their fierceness to attract a mate. Much like a rooster.”
“Like a rooster,” Avaline repeated, sounding hopeful now. She sat up again and folded her hands primly in her lap.
“Avaline...” Bernadette stood from the bed and kneeled down before her, so that she was looking her in the eye. “You must reserve judgment of him. In situations like this, the first meeting is truly the hardest. But when you are alone with him—”
“Alone!”
“Not alone. You know I’ll be nearby,” Bernadette said soothingly. “Say you are invited to walk with him. You might use that opportunity to converse with him, ask him questions about himself and assure yourself he is not as...” Boorish. Primitive. Savage? “As distant as he has appeared to you,” she said, and smiled. “Men are quite eager to speak of themselves and need only the slightest encouragement. I’ve no doubt you’ll find him a wonderful companion if you allow him to focus his attention on himself.”
Avaline seemed highly skeptical. Bernadette would have to improve her powers of persuasion, but her belly chose that moment to growl with hunger. And rather loudly, too. She hadn’t had a bite of food since early in the morning.
Avaline looked at Bernadette’s belly. “Oh, dear! You haven’t eaten!”
No, she’d not eaten, because that craggy old bastard of a butler had instructed her to come and prepare her lady’s bedchamber. Firstly, Avaline was not a lady. Secondly, Bernadette was not a bloody chambermaid. Granted, she was scarcely a rung above it, but she had her pride. She was, after all, the daughter of a recognized knight, Sir Whitman Holly, and his wife, her mother, Lady Esme Holly.
“How very careless of us,” Avaline said.
“You mustn’t give it another thought,” Bernadette said. She would be thinking about it all night, enough for the both of them.
“No, I am going to summon them now, and tell them—”
“I’ve an idea,” Bernadette said. “I’ll help you ready for bed, then I’ll go and seek out the kitchen. I shan’t disturb anyone—they’ll be quite well occupied with putting the house to bed.”
“Well...” Avaline said uncertainly, and bit her bottom lip again. Bernadette pointed to her own lip, and Avaline stopped chewing at once. It was a dreadful habit the girl had, and on more than one occasion, she’d ended the day looking as if someone had slapped her across the mouth.
“Come,” Bernadette said. “I’ll brush your hair.”
When she’d brushed and braided Avaline’s hair and put her in bed with a book she wouldn’t read, Bernadette said good-night and went in search of the kitchens. She was not accustomed to missing her supper and she didn’t much like it. She hoped she was not too late.
The castle was a confusing maze of winding corridors, some of them poorly lit, but Bernadette possessed a keen sense of direction and found her way to the great hall. It was empty now, save for four dogs that had staked their places before the massive hearth and the warm embers there. They scarcely lifted their heads when she paused to look inside.
She walked on, turning down one of the more brightly lit corridors. She heard voices, and realized the sound was coming from an open door. She moved closer. The voices were male, and she paused just outside the door, listening. She couldn’t make it out, really, and honestly didn’t care what they were saying—she only wanted to sneak by. She darted past the open door, but realized, too late, that in the shadows just past the open door was another door that closed off the hallway. “Of all the bother!” she whispered, and tried the handle, but it was locked.
Bernadette turned around, prepared to dart past the open door once more, but she realized with significant consternation that she was plainly visible from the room where the men had gathered, and they were visible to her. And there, facing the door, sat Avaline’s intended. Or was he now officially her fiancé? Whoever he was, he was staring at Bernadette, his expression unreadable...unless one looked at his eyes.
She didn’t know the man’s eye color, but from here, it looked as black and as hard as obsidian. His gaze moved over her, slowly and deliberately, as if he found her wanting. His casual perusal felt as if it had singed her, leaving a tingling trail down her chest to her abdomen. He was a beast! An uncivilized beast.
Bernadette glared right back at him. Men didn’t scare her as they did Avaline. Quite the contrary.
She lifted her chin and walked on, aware that his gaze followed her for the space of that open door.
“Madam?”
Bernadette had been so intent on showing that wretched man she was not the least bit intimidated by him that she hadn’t seen Captain Mackenzie moving down the corridor toward her, and almost jumped out of her skin.
He smiled at her obvious surprise. He was carrying a bottle in one hand.
“I beg your pardon, Captain,” she said as he neared her. “I’m a bit lost. Would you kindly point me to the kitchen?”
“The kitchen?”
“I, ah... I was tending to Miss Kent’s things during the supper hour,” she said, wincing slightly with apology.
“Ah. Come then,” he said, his warm smile returned. “You’ll be quite lost if you attempt to find it on your own, you will. Our ancestors didna think much of efficiency when they built this fortress.” He gestured for her to come with him.
He had such a lovely smile and even lovelier light blue eyes. He’d been unfailingly kind to them all since the moment they’d boarded his ship, and Bernadette couldn’t help but smile now, happy to have been rescued by him.
“Miss Kent, she’s well, is she?” he asked pleasantly as they took another turn into another corridor.
“Quite. A bit tired, what with the journey, but very well, thank you.”
“Aye. Here we are then,” he said, opening a door and allowing Bernadette to pass through before him. A wooden table stretched long through the middle of the kitchen. On one wall were the many pots used for cooking. On another wall, jars of spices. The smell of lamb roasting made her stomach growl, and she smiled sheepishly at her escort.
Captain Mackenzie walked to the bell pull and tugged on it. A moment later, a woman appeared. Her gray hair was knotted on the top of her head and her apron was wet from the chest down, as if she’d been washing.
Captain Mackenzie spoke to her in Gaelic. She responded in kind and disappeared through the door from where she’d come. The captain turned to Bernadette and bowed. “Barabel will prepare something for you, aye?”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully.
