The Wrong Highland Bridegroom: A Novella (3 page)

The castle was unnaturally silent, as if everyone, from the master to the stable lad’s dog, were holding their breath. Effie crouched behind the stone battlements. Her brother would not be pleased, but she had to see what was going to happen.

The English mounted knights approached, forming a long line. The foot soldiers stood behind them in neat rows. Effie understood this show of force was intended to impress, but it was depressing just how effective the spectacle was. Her brother rode out to meet the knights in full battle dress. He was flanked by all the lairds in similar attire. Effie noted that Connor rode forward in place of his father.

“Hail Alnsworth Castle!” cried an English lord when they were just within bowshot of each other. “I come with a message from His Majesty the King of England and France. You are inhabiting the castle and grounds belonging to Lord Lockton. It is hereby demanded that you remove yourselves immediately or a state of war will exist between us.”

“I am the Laird Campbell,” bellowed her brother at them. “I am the rightful master of Alnsworth through marriage to Lady Isabelle, the Countess of Tynsdale. I dinna recognize yer claim of ownership.”

“Alnsworth Castle was granted to Lady Isabelle’s cousin, Lord Lockton, by His Majesty King Edward the third.” One of the mounted knights held aloft a scroll.

“Yer king is not my king. I dinna recognize his authority over me, my people, or my land. However, I am willing to negotiate following the terms I have set.”

The voices of the knights dropped and Effie strained to hear the conversation against the rushing of the wind. One English knight removed his helm and stepped forward. “What are your terms?” asked the younger knight.

Campbell nodded to Connor, who took up a bow. Effie gasped. Was Connor to fire the first shot? Was it to be war?

Connor pulled back on his bow and Effie noticed something peculiar with the arrow. He released his shaft and it flew true to the wooden shield slung at the side of one of the knights. It stuck into the wood, a small bundle of papers wrapped around the arrow shaft. Connor had shot a message attached to the arrow, now stuck to the shield.

It was an amazing shot.

Effie’s jaw dropped and stayed there. It was more than remarkable; it was an extraordinary risk. If the shaft had gone astray even the smallest bit, it could have hit the knight’s horse—or the knight himself. As it was, it was stuck to the middle of the shield. Her brother must have complete confidence in Connor, or he would never have let him shoot. If he had missed, it would have been immediate war.

The horses of the English knights skittered sideways and their impressive line was ruined. Effie smiled. There were other more conventional ways to deliver their terms to the English, but her brother was sending a message. He was not afraid to fight.

She hoped and prayed it would not come to that.

Her brother and the lairds spun their mounts and galloped back to the castle. Connor looked up. She could not see his face in the distance, but he saw her—she knew it. Effie quickly made her way down to the courtyard. It would not do to let her brother find her on the walk. From now on, she would need to be more cautious.

Despite the number of people present, the courtyard was oddly quiet. Everyone was wondering what Campbell would say. Would it be war? Would it be a siege? Could they negotiate themselves out of it?

These clans were their friends and allies; they could count on them in a fight. Yet Effie had seen how many English stood outside their door. A fight would be disastrous to both parties. No, they must negotiate.

Finally, David Campbell appeared on the interior wall walk above them.

“The tournament will continue.” David spoke only these four words and then disappeared once more inside the tower.

His words were greeted with stunned silence, then a slow rumbling of cheers like a sleeping giant waking from a long sleep rose and echoed across the courtyard. If the games were to continue, things must not be so bleak.

Effie was not sure what her brother was about. The tense interchange she heard did not lead her to believe negotiations would be successful. As a loving and helpful sister, she decided to go share this assessment with her brother at once.

She ran up the stone staircase of the tower he’d disappeared into. As she was going up, she met Connor coming down. He greeted her with a frown.

“What were ye doing on the wall walk?” he asked.

“I wanted to hear what the English would do.” Effie spoke as if the answer was obvious, because of course, it was.

“Ye must ken yer place was not on the outer wall.”

“Aye. But it is no’ yer place to tell me so.” Effie folder her arms across her chest. She would not be chastised by anyone. Or at least not him. If it were her brother, she would accept the criticism, for she knew it was warranted. But the same words coming from Connor stung more sharply than she expected.

Connor pressed his lips together as if preventing whatever he wanted to say from escaping his lips. He gave her a brief nod then proceeded to walk down the stairs.

“Why does my brother continue the games?” asked Effie as he passed. He stopped on the stair below hers and looked at her, eye to eye. A flash of heat warmed her chest. She had never been so close to him.

“Laird Campbell does not wish his guests to be disappointed because an English lord decided to show up at his door.”

“Do ye think the English will negotiate? Do ye think we can escape wi’out bloodshed or starvation?” Effie put a hand on the cold stone wall to steady herself. She spoke the fear she was trying to keep at bay. She stared down at the hem of her gown. When she raised her eyes, he had leaned closer.

“Dinna fear. Yer brother is a smart one. He is ready to give this castle back to the English. All that remains is the terms.” His voice was soft and reassuring, but Effie was not convinced.

“Are ye sure then o’ the outcome?”

“I can ne’er be sure. But I do know Campbell is a wise one. I’d trust my future to him.”

“Whether I will or nil, I suppose we all must,” said Effie. They were surrounded now. No one could leave this party.

“Hope,” said Connor with a small smile. “Ye must have hope.”

Effie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Aye, hope.” Speaking the word infused its meaning into her heart. “Hope,” she repeated for good measure. She glanced up the tower stairs and realized she no longer needed to speak her fears to her brother. Let him worry about the English. Hope. She would live with it.

“Are ye going to compete in the tournament?” she asked.

He shrugged and turned to continue down the narrow staircase with her following. “I had no’ thought to do so.”

“It may be a good way to meet a future bride,” said Effie, though Connor finding another woman to marry was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to marry another, that much was true, but the thought that he also would find someone else did not sit well.

“Aye.” Connor looked away. “Ye ken ladies prefer a man in the games?”

Effie smiled. The answer was obvious. Naturally, all women, great and lowly alike, would delight in a dashing knight who braved the lists, all for the glory and honor of a single kiss. “I’ve heard tell ladies fancy a man who has earned his spurs and is not afeared to use them.”

“Then I shall try my hand at anything ye wish.”

Effie smiled. “Then ye shall enter the Robin Hood challenge!”

***

The mood of the people in the courtyard had shifted multiple times throughout the day. First joyful excitement, then fearful apprehension, then some combination of the two, enlarging every emotion, making the very ground of the courtyard hum with excitement. There was no escaping the walls now, so everyone was crowded together, further magnifying the situation.

Knights brought a shield with their clan crest to join the tournament and enter into particular events. Men eager to participate swarmed the entrance tables, and ladies eager to note who volunteered for which event gathered close to watch, with Effie among them. Connor stepped forward and waited his turn to present his shield and join the tournament.

“Greetings, m’lady.” Suddenly someone wrapped a hand around her waist.

She jumped in surprise, only to find the cheeky Sir Malcolm Douglas standing beside her. It was terribly forward and Effie should be offended. To her shame, she was more pleased than outraged. In the crowd of people, she doubted anyone would notice, so she put her hand over his.

“Good day to ye, Sir Malcolm.” She smiled when she said it.

“Ah, a smile so bright. You are a welcome sight after all the grim grumblings since the English arrived at your door.” He grinned back at her.

“Ye have a welcome smile, Sir Malcolm, for I find I need some cheering. Will ye compete in the tournament?”

“Compete? Nay, my lass. I shall win this tournament. Laird Campbell has promised a golden shield to the winner and it shall be mine.”

“Ye are too cocksure, sir knight,” she chastised.

He leaned closer. “Aye, but I ken what I’ve got to be sure about,” he drawled in a seductive tone. “Meet me tonight.”

“Nay! Where?”

“Passage behind the great hall, none but the servants tread there.”

Effie shrugged one shoulder coyly. “I shall see if I am available.”

Malcolm gave her a wink and strode manfully into the crowd. Effie noted the other men parted to let him pass. He was a big man, a strong man, a man not lacking in confidence, and perhaps he had every reason to be self-assured. On sheer size alone, he could best any man in the castle.

Was there anything more to want in a man?

David Campbell addressed the clans from the high table in the great hall. The conversations hushed as he rose. In the night, the many campfires of the English could be seen from the walls. There was not a person in the hall who did not remember how the English had burned their crops, decimated their coffers, and destroyed their towns not three years ago the last time English soldiers had invaded.

“The tournament begins on the morrow,” began Campbell as if nothing was amiss. “I am pleased to see so many o’ the young lads have pledged their shields in the competition. Three contests have been chosen to determine an overall winner o’ the tournament. Since May Day we honor Robin Hood, archery will be the first contest. Sir Robin also was skilled in battle, so the sword shall be the next contest. And to please the ladies, a joust shall be our final sport. The overall winner shall be awarded this golden shield and a kiss from our lovely Maid Marian.” David gestured to Effie.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, drowning out Effie’s exclamation of shock. “What’s this? Why me give a kiss?” she asked Isabelle.

“You are the highest ranking unmarried maid of the host,” replied Isabelle in a mild tone.

“But Elyne…” began Effie before she remembered her sister’s predicament.

“Is not here. So you shall be our Maid Marian,” said Isabelle with a smile.

“Me?” Effie almost squealed with excitement. It was tradition during the May Day celebration to honor Robin Hood and his lady love Maid Marian. With so many elder sisters, Effie had never considered the honor would go to her.

Effie smiled radiantly and waved to their guests, enjoying every moment of it. Among the crowd, she noted Connor, who clapped politely. Unlike Malcolm, who whooped something fierce and winked and possibly made a crude gesture. She supposed he was being friendly.

“Following the individual events,” continued Laird Campbell when the cheers had tapered, “we shall have the group melee.”

Another cheer erupted from the crowd. This was the grand spectacle of every tournament. Two teams charged the field for a mock battle. Despite the blunt weapons used, these battles were brutal and many a good knight had been injured or even killed in the melees. It was one of the reasons why there was an attempt by some to ban tournaments, though the local populace continued the tradition.

David held up his hands to gain the attention of the crowd again. “Now I want ye lads no’ to go too hard, for we may soon need every man to have a little melee with our English friends who have come to join our May Day celebrations.”

The crowd obligingly booed and hissed.

“I ken that some o’ ye may feel uneasy wi’ such neighbors,” continued Campbell. “But dinna fear. We plan negotiations wi’ the devils, and if that fails, we shall no’ hesitate to send them all back to Hades.”

The crowd cheered again. Neither David Campbell nor any Scotsman present held love in his chest for the English. The food arrived at that moment and the crowd cheered again. The tone of the evening was of frenetic festivities. Everyone seemed determined to have a good time, no matter the consequences.

Effie helped herself to some roast and took more than one savory pie from the platter heaped with food. It was then that she realized the feasting was continuing. There was no attempt to conserve food. They would not last long in a siege.

She glanced at her brother. He was usually a cautious sort, so why not conserve? He gave her a solemn nod and she knew. There would be no siege. If an agreement could not be met, they would charge the English on the field. It would be peace or it would be war, but either way, it would be decided soon.

A rock formed in her stomach as she looked around at the feasting knights. They may soon be called upon to fight. The thought filled her with dread. Malcolm caught her eye and winked. She did not resist giving him a smile in return. What would the next few days bring for this young knight? Might this be among his last meals? It was decided. She would meet him tonight.

The night’s feasting and entertainment went late into the evening, but finally it came time for the festivities to end, at least the type of activities condoned by the host. The ladies began to retire and the activities of the men became more raucous. Chief among the merrymakers was Malcolm, whose whoops and hollers echoed cheerfully in the large hall.

Effie watched Malcolm until he made eye contact and gave her a short nod. He stood and walked slowly to the exit. This was her chance. She stood, but Isabelle took her hand, preventing a quick escape.

“Let us bid farewell to our lovely ladies.” David rose to address the crowd. “Isabelle, my lovely wife, and Effie, my charming sister, will now retire. Yet they will return on the morrow to watch ye lads compete!”

Effie and Isabelle curtsied to the crowd as they cheered. Effie scanned the room, but she had lost sight of Malcolm. Isabelle began leading her through the overly friendly Highlanders wishing her pleasant dreams.

“Good night to ye,” said a familiar voice. It was Connor. “I wish ye pleasant dreams.”

It was a kind sentiment, but she wanted more than just pleasant dreams. “Good eve to ye, Sir Connor.” Effie curtsied and moved on. She wanted something more, something exciting, something like Sir Malcolm Douglas. Trouble was, Isabelle had linked arms and was mildly leading her out of the hall.

Effie met Malcolm’s eye, hoping he would understand. He gave her a grin and a shrug. He understood she had been caught. Effie smiled at her admirers and followed Isabelle’s lead up to her chamber. Her plans had been foiled, but there was always tomorrow night.

***

“Wake up, my lovely. You have a big day ahead of you.” Isabelle gave Effie a little nudge.

Effie snuggled further down in her bed and yawned. Isabelle’s firstborn made a happy screeching noise and Effie scrunched down further.

“Well, if you are not interested, I suppose I could always wear this myself.”

Effie peeked over the covers. Isabelle stood before her with her firstborn on her hip and a delicately crafted silver crown in her hand. It was a band of woven silver loosely plaited with tiny leaves engraved on the strands. “They say this was Maid Marian’s crown she wore when she wed Robin Hood.”

Effie sat up and raised an eyebrow. “And we have come by it how?”

“Remarkable, is it not?” Isabelle smiled back.

“It is beautiful,” admired Effie.

“Let us prepare you for the tournament, Maid Marian.” Isabelle handed the tot off to his nurse and ushered in two lady’s maids. They helped Effie into a pale blue silk gown with long, draping sleeves reminiscent of an earlier time. Her golden hair was plaited and decorated with flowers over which a gauzy veil and the delicate silver crown were added.

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Isabelle. “My work is quite excellent!”

Effie laughed. “Aye, ye are as clever as ye are modest.”

“No need to insult!” Isabelle laughed. “How are you liking your groom to be? He is a handsome man, is he not?”

Effie coughed at the sudden turn in conversation. “Aye, verra braw.” Though not as big and muscular as Malcolm, but she kept that observation to herself.

Isabelle nodded in approval. “I know you had some reservations about the man David had chosen for you, but I think now on seeing him there can be no complaint. Am I right, dear sister?” Isabelle’s gaze was unwavering, her mouth pinched in anxiety.

Effie smiled at Isabelle, her mind racing with what to say. She wanted to confess to Isabelle that she had arranged not to wed Sir Connor, but such a confession would only be related directly to her brother, and Effie was not ready to tell David. She must have a replacement first. Yet, she must say something to Isabelle, who clearly was concerned about Effie’s acceptance of Sir Connor—and for good reason.

“I can find no fault in Sir Connor Maclachlan. My brother has made a good choice,” said Effie. It was all true. But Connor was not her choice.

“Good.” Isabelle breathed a sigh. “I am pleased you approve of Sir Connor. He is a good man.”

“Aye, he is.” Effie was certain he would be a good husband for someone. The problem with Connor was not his character; the trouble was he wasn’t in love with her. Effie had given up trying to make anyone understand. She wanted more than just a good catch. She wanted love. Maid Marian would not settle for anything less, and neither would she.

“Come, then, let us watch the first contest. Archery! I wonder who shall emerge our Robin Hood today?” asked Isabelle with a smile.

Effie followed Isabelle to meet David and the other notable lairds and their entourage. They then proceeded with great pomp to the stands that had been erected for them to watch the contest. The stands were draped in colorful cloth of red, blue, and gold. Flags and banners flapped in the wind raised on poles so high the English could see them raised.

“The English must think us mad,” said Effie, sitting in a chair of honor beside Isabelle. The crowd cheered at the arrival of their Maid Marian.

“You are Scots. They already think you mad,” said Isabelle, waving to the crowd.

Effie stood and waved in a sweeping motion to make the most of her draping sleeves. “Good. We shall no’ disappoint them.”

“No chance of that,” muttered Isabelle.

“Welcome, my friends!” announced David, who stood next to Isabelle. “We are honored by the arrival of our Maid Marian.” Effie inclined her head in what she hoped was a regal manner and David continued, “In honor of Robin Hood, our first contest will be archery. May the best Robin win!”

The crowd erupted in cheers and Effie could only imagine what the English must be thinking. She doubted they were accustomed to being met with such levity. There were many archers, so they were arranged in groups of ten, all shooting at once. At first the targets were closer, then were moved progressively farther back.

Effie noted with pleasure that Connor won his group, while Malcolm won his as well. They were both excellent shots. The top two of each group were combined to form two groups. Connor won his round and Malcolm won his. Now the winners were put into one group and the target itself was moved back another twenty paces.

“This should be an interesting contest,” said Isabelle, leaning forward.

Connor was the first to shoot. He had been consistent all day. Yet as he was about to release his arrow, a child ran onto the field and Connor jerked his arm up to avoid the child, causing his bolt to fly high and wide.

“That is unfair!” cried Effie. “He should have another chance. He was only trying to save that wee one’s life.” But the contest continued.

“He shall have one more chance to shoot in the second round,” soothed Isabelle.

“Aye, but he would have to be perfect to win now,” protested Effie. She was surprised by her own strong reaction.

The other participants shot well, with Malcolm shooting last. He raised his arms to the crowd, eliciting cheers, and, Effie noted with some displeasure, shrieks from some young ladies in attendance. He may have winked at them, but she could not be sure.

The crowd hushed as he lined up his shot. He took aim and let loose, scoring well. Effie clapped appreciatively. Connor was now up to take the first shot of the second round. Effie leaned forward, waiting to see his shot. Connor aimed and shot, hitting in the exact center of the target. Effie could not help but smile.

The judges conferred and called back Connor, Malcolm, and two others to shoot a third and final time.

“Sir Connor still has a chance,” exclaimed Effie.

Isabelle shook her head. “He still is considerably behind in points. I doubt he can win even with a perfect score.”

There was some conferring on the field between Connor and the judges, and the target was moved back another fifty paces.

Effie smiled. “That should even the odds.”

“I am glad to see you are championing Sir Connor’s cause,” said Isabelle.

Effie frowned. She was hoping for Malcolm to win the tournament and the kiss. Wasn’t she?

This time Malcolm was the first to shoot. He took his time, considering the wind, aiming his shot. He released his arrow and it landed on the target, a good shot. Effie clapped for him. The other two contestants shot. One missed entirely and the other hit the target but was wide. Malcolm started to accept congratulations even as Connor stepped onto the field. It would take a perfect shot to overcome the deficit.

Effie leaned forward and held her breath when Connor went to shoot. His arrow flew true, a perfect score! Effie bounded to her feet and cheered along with the crowd.

Connor turned and caught her eye, giving her a bow. Sir Malcolm also caught her eye, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. She stopped cheering and sat down to compose herself. Malcolm turned to Connor. The two men soberly shook hands as the crowd dispersed to find a quick meal before the next competition—the sword.