The Wrong Highland Bridegroom: A Novella (5 page)

Effie arrived at the feast looking fine and feeling shaken. Isabelle had made sure she looked the image of Maid Marian, complete with the silver crown. Her blond hair was plaited down her back and the sleeves of her silken gown almost dragged on the floor.

A cheer emerged from the crowd in homage to the Maid Marian when she entered, but Effie quickly scanned the crowd, looking for evidence of two men. One, Sir Malcolm, was cheering for her heartily. The other, Sir Connor, gazed at her intently.

Effie waved back at her admirers. She waved at Connor, but he hardly acknowledged her. She waved at Malcolm, who raised his glass and proposed a toast to the lovely Maid Marian. She wondered why Connor was so reserved. Even when she was doing something to help him, the man was prickly and distant.

She inhaled sharply at the thought of the time they shared on the bed. Even though it was clear he was utterly unaffected by her, she enjoyed rubbing the muscles of a man in perfect condition. It was a terrible shame, but she was attracted to a man who felt next to nothing for her. Oh, certainly he liked the balm that she brought. He had made that clear by asking her to marry him.

And why would he choose such words? The thought of marriage was beginning to be a painful reminder of her floundering attempts at finding love. She had left the jar and run away before she could do something foolish and take his words seriously. In that moment, with his intense eyes and his rippling muscles, she almost said she would marry him. What a mistake that would have been. Then he would have said he was only in jest and she would be left to cringe in embarrassment.

She sat at the head table beside Isabelle and watched without interest as the ghillies brought in the food.

“How go the negotiations with England?” Effie asked Isabelle.

“Oh, fine. No concerns.” Isabelle refused to look at her and instead helped herself to a generous amount of roasted mutton.

“If I ask again will ye tell me the truth, sister?”

“Negotiations take time,” Isabelle hedged. She took some roasted apples, a savory pie, and some bread.

“Ye are either trying to evade my questions or are eating for more than just yerself.”

Isabelle stopped and turned to Effie with a smile. “Yes, you are correct on both counts.”

Effie flung her arms around her sister-in-law and gave her a big hug. “I am so happy for ye.”

“Thank you.” Isabelle beamed. “We are pleased.”

“Wonderful! Now, how go the negotiations?”

Isabelle turned back to her meal. “Not well. Not yet. But I must have hope for a successful resolution to this problem.”

For if they did not find a solution soon, it would be war. She knew it; Isabelle knew it; every knight and lady in the hall knew it. It was a strange thing to feast and make merry with a wolf at the door.

If her brother was concerned, he took pains not to show it. The feast was second to none, even with the addition of many crofters, yeomen, and peasants who lived around the castle and fled within the gates when the English approached. The entertainment was also pleasing, a mix of jugglers and acrobats.

After a while, the feast proper began to wind down and the respectable ladies retired to their quarters. Isabelle took David’s arm and Effie stood to follow. As they left, David was waylaid into a conversation with Laird Douglas, and Isabelle was drawn into a conversation about the best way to reduce the sickness of early pregnancy, so Effie continued out of the hall alone.

“Maid Marian, m’lady!” called Malcolm’s low voice.

Effie turned and gave Sir Malcolm a wan smile. “Good evening, sir knight. Ye are to be congratulated on yer win at swords.”

Malcolm shrugged. “’Twas nothing. Come, I wish to talk wi’ ye.”

Effie shook her head. “My sister will be coming soon. If I am not in our solar when she arrives, she will raise the alarm.”

“For a moment then.” He reached for her hand and held it gently in his large warm one. “I canna stop thinking of ye.”

“Truly?” Effie allowed herself to be drawn into a side passage used mainly by servants. It was darker and more cramped, but she was curious regarding Malcolm’s intentions.

“Aye.” He leaned a shoulder against the stone wall and kept hold of her hand. “I winna lie to ye. I fear I have enjoyed the kisses o’ many a lass. But none like ye. Ye are special to me.”

Effie was surprised at his honesty—if he was being honest. “Why am I special to ye? Ye hardly know me at all.”

“But if ye meet yer true love, do ye not know it at once?” Malcolm’s voice was low and silky.

“Do ye?”

“Aye. My heart knows.” He stepped closer and lifted her hand to his muscular chest.

Effie smiled. He was trying hard to woo her and she appreciated the effort. This was what she was wanting—someone to care enough to say sweet things to win her heart. “But why this sudden declaration, sir knight?”

“Before today, I did not think I had any hope of securing a lasting union wi’ ye. But something Connor said gave me hope that I might win yer heart and yer hand in marriage.”

“What did Connor say?” It was curious that she was more interested in Connor’s words than the fact that Malcolm had just said he wanted to marry her.

“I understood ye to be promised to him. But his attack today at the games was not one of a confident man. Mayhap he is worrit for good reason, no? Mayhap ye kens he is no’ man enough for ye.”

Effie opened her mouth to protest. It was true she did not wish to wed Connor, but she would allow no aspersions to be cast on his manhood.

“Tell me I have reason to hope.” Malcolm drew her closer and whispered into her ear. “Tell me ye will be my wife.” He kissed her earlobe, sending tingly sensations down to her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned closer to kiss her.

“Oh! Sorry, m’lady.” A ghillie turned and walked back the way he came.

Effie jumped away from Malcolm.

“Come now, naught but a ghillie,” said Malcolm.

“Nay, I fear I have tarried too long. I must return to my sister.” Effie pulled herself away and hustled up to her clan’s solar. Malcolm had said everything she had been waiting to hear. He loved her. He wished to marry her. She was somewhat relieved that she had not been required to kiss him again, but pushing aside that confusing thought—she had done it!

Instead of going into the solar, Effie continued up the stone staircase to the tower. She needed to think. Besides, it was raining, and the cool wet air would be a relief after the heat of the hall. Effie lifted the trapdoor and was pelted by an angry deluge. It was raining a bit harder than she realized. She started back down the stairs.

“I did much the same thing.” Connor’s voice came floating up from below.

Effie walked down the spiral stair to where Connor leaned against the door to the quarters for the Maclachlan clan. “Too wet for ye?” she asked.

“Nay, I like the rain. ’Tis the need to breathe air that troubles me. If I went out tonight, I may well and truly drown.”

Effie smiled. She enjoyed Connor’s wry sense of humor. “Did ye no’ ken ye are supposed to keep yer head down in the rain, no’ look up to the sky.”

“Och, I knew I was doing something wrong all these years.” His eyes glinted in the torchlight. “What a shame I shall no’ benefit from yer further instruction as my wife.”

Effie caught her breath at the mention of the union that would not be, although why she could not say. She had merely done exactly what they both agreed to do. “I believe I have found someone.”

“Sir Malcolm.” Connor’s voice dropped.

“Aye. He has declared his love and says he wishes to wed me.”

“I am sure he does at that.”

“Truly? Has he shared his feelings wi’ ye?”

“Nay. But ye are well dowered.”

Silence fell in the dark tower. Even the flickering torches seemed to darken and still. A coldness shot through her.

“Aye. Thank ye for that reminder. Though I will say between the two o’ ye, he has never mentioned it.”

“Effie, I dinna mean–”

“I ken what ye mean, Sir Connor. Ye mean to say that Sir Malcolm is only interested in me for my dowry. Because, apparently to yer discerning eye, there can be no other possible motivation for his interest in me other than monetary benefit.”

“Nay, indeed I dinna mean to imply–”

Effie continued walking down the stairs. “Nay, o’ course ye dinna mean to say it.” She stopped directly before him. “But ye did say it.”

Connor looked stricken.

Effie continued to walk down the stairs.

“I apologize. My words were unkind.” His pained words floated down after her. She shooed them away.

Effie opened the door to her solar and slammed the door shut. His words stung more than she wished to admit. Now she knew she made the right decision. Connor clearly did not hold her in high regard. The mere thought put a lump in her throat. It was a good thing she did not care for what he thought of her.

She brushed away a tear with an impatient hand. She did not care for his good opinion. No, not in the least.

The next morning, Effie flung off the blankets and jumped out of bed, ready for the morn. Yesterday had ended poorly, but she was not of a brooding nature. The rain had stopped, the sun was out, and she was determined to make the most of it.

She was dressed much as she was the day before. She put on a clean linen chemise and kirtle and over that the silver-blue gown from a bygone era with the sweeping sleeves. Her blond hair was braided in two long plaits and the silver crown was placed on her head.

“Indeed, you look lovely,” said Isabelle. “We have never had such a charming Maid Marian.”

“Thank ye,” murmured Effie, distracted.

“And today shall be the big day for Marian, the day Robin Hood is crowned and she bestows on him a kiss.”

Effie’s head snapped up. “Och, aye.” She bit her lip and hoped she would enjoy this kiss more than she had her last.

A sudden yell of male voices drew their attention.

“What was that?” asked Isabelle.

“Are the lads preparing in the courtyard?” asked Effie. They both opened the shutter to look out the window. Yet nothing was out of the ordinary.

Another yell came from the distance, making them both pause.

“I am going to look from the tower,” said Effie.

“Keep your head down. Don’t be seen by either the English or your brother. You know how he feels about towers.”

“Aye. Heard it much too often.” Effie bounded up the stone stairs. David’s dislike of high places was legendary, yet in a cruel twist of fate, all his siblings enjoyed an elevated view, thus creating more than one difference of opinion on whether castle towers should be frequented or not.

Effie opened the wooden trapdoor on the tower. Connor was there. Crouched behind the battlements, looking out on the valley below. He turned and acknowledged her with a nod. Effie acknowledged him stiffly in return, her heart giving him a silent greeting with an extra beat.

Connor was not wearing his usual great plaid, as was common for Highlanders; instead, he wore a surcoat, padded hauberk, and breeches. She was surprised for a moment until she remembered today was the joust. The men would be wearing armor. She had never before considered how armor could improve the look of a man.

But it did.

Effie crept to him, careful to keep low so as not to be a target for the English bowmen. “Good morn to ye, Sir Connor.” She disliked the mixed emotions he swirled within her.

“Good morn to ye, Lady Euphemia.”

Effie scrunched her nose at hearing her formal name. The only time her family used that name was when she was in trouble. Another warrior’s yell sliced through the morning and Effie looked out through the battlements at the scene below.

“What is all that racket?” asked Effie.

“The English are doing some fool thing. They are arranged into formations and are marching around, yelling at each other.”

Hundreds of English soldiers had arranged into neat square formations and were marching down the valley, stopping at intervals and forming into a defensive position with a warrior’s yell, swords and pikes at the ready, looking like a very angry hedgehog. Despite Connor’s casual manner, if the English intended to impress, they had hit their mark.

“English are so verra odd,” said Effie lightly, not mentioning what they both were thinking. The English may be odd, but they were good fighters, so good the Scots had rarely met them in battle and emerged the victor. No one rushed into battle with England without serious contemplation. If the clans met them on the field of battle, it would end poorly for everyone.

“Campbell will secure terms wi’ the English. I doubt it will come to war,” said Connor as if he could read her mind.

“Aye, I must have hope, eh?”

“Aye. And I hope ye can forgive my thoughtless words last night.”

Effie slid her eyes to his but said nothing.

“I spoke o’ my fear ye would’na find a man worthy o’ ye. But if Malcolm has secured yer heart, then I wish ye both a long and a happy life.”

Effie searched his face, trying to determine if he was jesting with her, but his eyes were sincere. “Thank ye.”

He leaned toward her and Effie instinctively leaned closer as well. He stopped inches from her face. Effie’s pulse raced and her lips parted. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to be closer to him, though with only inches separating them, she could not say where she wanted to go.

“Effie,” he whispered, his focus drawn to her eyes, then down to her lips.

“Aye,” she whispered in return.

“I…I…” He shook himself and leaned back. “I am glad it has stopped raining.”

Effie looked away, confused by what had just happened. “Aye, should be a goodly day for a joust.”

“Lots o’ mud.”

“Aye,” Effie said with a smile. “Perfect.”

***

The colorful banners of the clans flapped wildly in the wind. It was a sunny day but windy, and the mud was indeed present to add to the spectacle. The joust was a favorite with everyone, particularly the ladies. Many a knight could be found wooing a bonnie lass for a chance of securing a ribbon or handkerchief to tie to his lance for good luck.

As Maid Marian, Effie could not bestow a token, but she watched with interest the couples who now publicly expressed affection during this clan gathering. The main reason for all of this, at least to her mind, was to secure marriages, thus establishing continued goodwill between the clans.

Malcolm, she noted with interest, had not gone elsewhere for a token. But Connor, she noted with displeasure, had several ladies follow him wherever he went. Two bestowed favors upon him. He took both and put them within his hauberk.

“What are you frowning for, sister?” asked Isabelle. “Is something not to your liking?”

Effie sat straight next to her in the viewing stands. “Nay, everything is quite well. Should be a good day for a joust.”

“Yes, a lovely day indeed.” Isabelle beamed. Being with child agreed with her. Would this be Effie next year, carrying a man’s child, attending the May Day feast? Hope. It was a powerful thing.

The first riders lined up in the lists, each rider spurring his horses toward each other, a low barrier marking where the horse was to run. The armored knights charged toward each other, their long lances coming down and smashing into each other’s shields. Both lances shattered to the cheers of the crowd.

Shattered spears, knights knocked from their horses, the spectacle was everything the crowd could have wanted, and the large splat when a shining knight hit the muddy ground only increased the enjoyment. The crowd cheered especially loud whenever an unhorsed knight landed in a particularly deep puddle.

It was all good sport, but Effie could not help but take particular interest in Malcolm and Connor. In the preliminary rounds, Malcolm won both rounds, unhorsing his opponent. Connor, on the other hand, had clearly spent less time proving his worth with a lance. He lost his first round but won the second. She cheered for them both, trying to sort her feelings.

She planned to talk to her brother to ask if she might make a slight deviation to the marriage contract. David may be disappointed, but in the end there could be no objections. Malcolm came from a well-respected clan. Granted, he was not going to be laird, but still he was one fine man.

Malcolm strolled confidently through the crowd toward the back of the stands where he had kissed Effie yesterday. Did he wish to meet with her again?

A certain Maid Marian needed to meet her potential Robin Hood. So many questions swirled around her. She needed answers. She whispered to Isabelle that she needed a moment of privacy and stepped down from the stands. People were milling about and Effie paused, waiting to see if Malcolm would appear.

Giggling could be heard from under the drape of the grandstand and she stepped back, assuming another couple had found a moment of privacy under the drape. A giggling young maiden with a tilted veil stumbled out from behind the drape. She caught sight of Effie, curtsied quickly, and hustled off in the opposite direction.

A moment later a smug Malcolm appeared from the drape.

Effie’s heart sank. For a moment she could not move. The man who had promised just the night before to love and cherish her forever had been kissing and goodness only knows what else with another lass.

He caught sight of her and shouted her name, the smile drained from his face. She spun on her heel to run but stopped and turned around. She was a Campbell. And a Campbell never backed down from a fight.

“Enjoying yerself, ye snake!” she hissed at him.

“Effie, lassie, ye canna be upset about such a wee little thing,” cajoled Malcolm.

“Wee thing? She looked full grown to me!”

“If only ye had been more affectionate, I would’na have had to turn to another.” He drew close and spoke in a soft slippery voice. “I have a man’s needs that only ye can fill.”

“I accept responsibility for it then.” Effie nodded. “As I take responsibility for being a fool for ever speaking to ye. Dinna ever address me again.”

A crowd was beginning to notice this interchange so she stepped back and pasted a smile on her face. “I wish ye good luck in the joust, sir knight,” she said in a loud voice. She spun and walked purposely to the tower. When the door closed behind her and the curious eyes could no longer judge, she hitched up her skirts and ran up the tower stairs all the way to the top.

She pushed the trapdoor open and gulped the cool fresh air, impatiently brushing away her tears. He was not worth the pain. She realized she was not so much heartbroken over his loss as embarrassed for having been foolish enough to believe his lies.

She leaned on the battlements and looked out over the valley below. Hundreds of English soldiers were camped below. Soon they may be at war. Her sister was somewhere in the wild with a strange man. She took a deep breath. Her troubles were nothing compared to the true worries of this world.

“Get down!” Connor ran from the trapdoor, grabbed her, and pulled her down behind the battlements.

“What are ye doing, ye daft man?” Effie was pulled into Connor’s lap as they both landed hard on the stone floor of the tower.

“Ye should no’ be standing where an English archer could see ye and mistake ye for a target.”

“Ye should’na sneak up on ladies and wrestle them to the ground. What is wrong wi’ ye men? Besides, I doubt any arrow could strike this far tower.”

“I dinna wish to take chances.” He wrapped his arms around her in a protective manner. “Are ye all right?”

Effie stilled. She knew he was speaking of what happened in the courtyard. “Ye saw.”

“Aye.”

“Did others see?”

Connor shrugged, so she assumed it was affirmative.

Effie sighed. “I have been a fool. An utter fool. Ye were right no’ to like him.”

“Mayhap I was jealous,” offered Connor. It was a lie but kindly meant.

“Nay, he has naught for ye to envy.” She sighed again and relaxed into him. She should not be sitting in the lap of a man, but it was comforting to have him so close.

“I thank ye.” Connor’s voice was soft. His silver eyes gleamed, giving him an otherworldly aura. His hands gently stroked her back.

Effie leaned closer. If kissing was not so repellent to her, she might have wanted to kiss him now. He smelled nice. He
was
nice. Here she was, trying to find the perfect man, when she had landed, literally, on a perfectly decent one.

“Have ye found yerself a lady?” asked Effie.

“Aye,” answered Connor.

For the second time that afternoon, Effie’s heart sank. “Anyone I know?” She pulled back and kept her voice light.

Connor shrugged in a noncommittal way.

“I wish ye all the best, I truly do.” Effie smiled. The sentiment was true; the smile was not. “I should get back to the stands before they send someone to see if I have fallen ill.”

“Aye.” Connor helped her to her feet yet motioned for her to keep her head down until they made their way off of the tower.

Effie kept the smile on her face until it started to hurt. When they reached the door to the courtyard, she stopped and put her hand on Connor’s sleeve. “I have no right to ask this, but I should be grateful if ye would unhorse Sir Malcolm.”

“Ye wish to see his arse in the mud?” Connor smiled, his strange eyes glinting.

“Aye, I confess I do.” Effie held herself as straight as a lance. “For if I am forced to kiss him again, I fear I may lose my supper.”

Connor nodded and swept her a courtly bow. “I will do my utmost, m’lady.”

It would certainly take something spectacular for Connor to win. He was down in points, so he needed to do more than just shatter a lance; he needed to rip those knights from their saddles and send them flying into the mud. Was Connor the man to do it?