The Wrong Highland Bridegroom: A Novella (6 page)

How in the world had he allowed Effie Campbell to get him into this mess? Connor had asked himself that question many times. Though if he was fair, it was hardly her fault. It was he who wanted, in a strange moment of masculine pride, for Effie to see him as a rival to the supremely muscular and martially talented Sir Malcolm.

So to try to impress her, he had been pummeled by some of the best swordsmen in the Highlands; he still ached from the day before in case anyone cared to know, and now he was going to get himself stabbed by lances and most likely thrown into the mud. So far, the only lasses he had attracted were some ladies of dubious sobriety.

And he blamed Effie.

“Hope she’s worth it,” muttered his squire as the man fastened on the harness, the extra padding, and armor, which would hopefully keep him from dying on the field.

“Who’s that?” asked Connor, as if he did not know.

“Yer love. Maid Marian. The lass ye’ve been staring at wi’out fail for the past two days.” His squire pulled the harness tight and tied on plates to protect his shoulders and arms.

Connor shrugged.

“The lass ye were supposed to wed but then was making eyes at Sir Malcolm.”

Connor glared at him.

“The lass that wished Sir Malcolm to blazes not an hour ago.”

“Ye see too much,” growled Connor.

“Been locked in this castle wi’ not much else to do, haven’t we? Me and the lads have been taking bets.”

“How are my odds?”

The squire looked down and pretended to focus on Connor’s boots. “Better now. But then, they were no’ much good at the start.”

“Did ye bet for or against me?” asked Connor.

The squire did not look up. “Sorry, m’lord. Ye ken I’m a drinking man. Canna afford a loss.”

His own squire had bet against him. Most depressing. “Yer confidence in me gives such encouragement.”

“Aw now, dinna take offense. I do have a thought for ye if ye are interested.”

“If ye have an idea o’ how I can win against this lot, I’m listening.”

“Come wi’ me.” His squire led him out of the tent and to the side of the courtyard. He entered the stables and went far to the back. “I have a horse for ye.”

“I have a horse.” Connor’s mount was a fine animal, impeccably trained.

“No’ like this one.”

Something behind the wooden stable door snorted and pawed against the wood. Unlike the other stalls, this had a thick wooden door with a small hole at the top. It was at the end and larger too. No doubt a place for difficult animals. Connor looked in and instantly the tall horse shrieked and pawed the ground.

“Ye brought Grendel with us?” Connor was shocked. They had acquired the huge black stallion from a neighboring clan who called him a demon, reporting that he was unable to be ridden and had injured several riders. So far they had little success in riding him either.

“Aye. Think on it. He is bigger and stronger and faster than any horse out there.”

“I dinna doubt it. But he is more likely to kill me than my opponent.”

“Ye always had a way wi’ the animals, sir. Mayhap ye could gentle him enough to ride in the joust?”

The horse in question snorted again and pawed the ground as if the mere presence of the men by his stall was an insult.

“Ye ken I can tame this wild demon none have been able to ride enough to get him to ride a joust?” Connor glanced at the squire. Had the man taken leave of his senses?

“Aye, but dinna gentle him too much; ye want him to intimidate yer opponent.”

“I fear the only one intimidated is me.”

His squire shrugged. “’Tis yer decision.”

“Is there a pen free?”

“Aye, old one back yonder.”

Connor shook his head. “No doubt I’ll regret it, but bring him in and we shall see if he wants to play today.”

“Ye have little time,” warned his squire.

Connor knew that. He also knew he had no time to change out of his armor, so he would have to train him as he was. It took six stable hands to move Grendel to the back pen.

“Give me a moment wi’ him.” Connor climbed up to go over the fence and into the pen, but his squire grabbed his arm.

“Dinna go in alone. Have some o’ the stable lads hold him back, for he is a demon beast. Let us bind one o’ his back legs up and we’ll whip him into submission.”

Connor shook his head. “If I am to ride this beast, I need to gain his respect.” Connor jumped into the pen and immediately the horse charged. Connor deflected and swatted him on the rear with a rope to get him to run. Connor continued to challenge the horse and Grendel charged around the ring like a beast insane. Connor could understand why they had named him after a demon. He needed the horse to tire for a moment in order to establish trust, but Grendel did not appear to be the tiring sort.

He was running out of time.

“They have started up the joust!” shouted his squire.

Connor could hear that. And so could the horse. “How soon until I am to joust?”

“Two jousts and then ye.”

Not enough time. Was Effie worth the risk? Grendel slowed down and licked his lips. Connor knew this would be his only chance. Slowly, he moved toward Grendel, keeping his head low and his shoulder to him. He might look like he was ignoring the horse, but he was getting a little closer until the horse walked toward him and Connor slowly raised his hand to stroke the silky nose.

A cheer from the crowd spooked the horse, and he jumped up and ran again.

***

The herald called for Sir Connor Maclachlan and Effie slid to the edge of her seat in anticipation. There were experienced riders here and Effie feared he was out of his league. Connor may be great at many things, but she doubted jousting was one of them.

The other rider was in the starting position, but there was no sign of Connor. The crowd stilled. Would Sir Connor forfeit the joust?

Several shrieks and a commotion stirred the crowd, and suddenly Connor was dashing down the field on the fastest horse she had ever seen. The other jouster leaped forward, but Connor lowered his lance and blasted the other rider from his horse. Connor also was rocked back, but managed to remain in the saddle.

He was not, however, able to stop the horse at the end of the course, and instead, he and the large horse jumped a rail and were gone.

It took a moment before the stunned crowd began to cheer.

“What was Connor riding?” asked Effie when the shock had worn off sufficiently to find speech.

“If he is astride Grendel, the demon horse, then he is a braver man than I,” said David, shaking his head.

“Demon horse?” asked Effie. She had asked Connor to win, but she hoped he would not injure himself.

Another joust ensued and then Sir Connor was again called by the herald to take his mark. This time the crowd whispered in anticipation and cheered when he vaulted over the rail and raced for his opponent. The other horse stopped in fear and reared up, unhorsing the rider without Connor ever lowering his lance.

Once again Connor and the demon horse refused to stop at the end of the list and jumped over the rail and kept going despite multiple grooms attempting to stop the beast.

The herald walked to the tree of shields, where the colorful shields of the opponent knights were hung and the winning shield moved up the tree. Two shields were moved higher. It was down to Connor and Malcolm.

Effie knew it would come to this. She knew it. The crowd must have been wise to their secret animosity because they cheered wildly. A joust was more fun when the opponents wanted to kill each other.

Malcolm prepared himself in the lists. He would not be easily taken down or easily beat. The judge gave the signal that the joust could commence, and Malcolm spurred his horse and galloped down the list.

“What is he doing? Connor isna even there yet.” Effie leaned forward to see.

“If he reaches the other side and Connor is not there, then Connor is a forfeit. Malcolm would win,” said Isabelle, leaning forward herself.

“That’s unfair,” cried Effie.

The crowd agreed with her and began to boo. In a flash, Connor burst into the lists before Malcolm reached the other side. Malcolm was ready and struck Connor squarely on his shield. Connor did not even have time to lower his lance.

The horse once again ran through the lists and out the other side. Could he get his mount back in position in time?

“Careful of your gown,” chastised Isabelle.

Effie realized she was clutching her skirts. She let go and smoothed the fabric, but a moment later she was on her feet screaming at the stable lads to get Grendel back into the lists. “Grab his head! Dinna let him go!”

But the horse did go, up and over the rails. Connor stood up in the stirrups and pulled hard. The horse reared up and spun, nearly sending him to the ground. Connor held on and regained control of the animal.

“Mighty fine riding,” commented David. “I’ve rarely seen the like.”

Effie could only agree. She leaned on the railing of the stands and cheered him on, all thoughts of being the neutral Maid Marian forgotten.

Connor spurred him on and the beast sped down the list like one possessed. Malcolm sped toward him with more control. With a clash they passed each other. Connor missed, but Malcolm struck Connor’s thigh.

“Did he get him?” asked Effie.

“Nay, they both missed the shields, so no points will be awarded,” said David.

“But Malcolm struck Connor’s thigh. I saw it. Was it purposeful?” Effie asked.

David shook his head. “Hard to say. Could be Malcolm is trying to gain an advantage by wounding him. Also could be ’tis hard to aim when riding on a horse and holding a heavy lance.”

It could have been accidental, but Effie doubted it. Once again Connor had difficulty turning his beast and Effie shouted her advice and encouragement, not that it could be heard over the hundreds of others cheering around her.

Malcolm turned and raced down the list, once again trying to force a forfeit.

“Bastard!” Effie yelled at Malcolm. “Turn him, turn him,” she screamed at Connor.

Connor stood in the stirrups again and pulled back. The horse reared, jumped, and spun.

“Hurry, hurry,” screamed Effie. “He’s almost to the end.”

Connor’s mount flew over the rail and Connor lowered his lance in midair, catching Malcolm squarely on his shield. The lance shattered and Malcolm flew from the saddle, landing on his backside,
splat
, in the mud.

Effie shouted for joy even as the crowd erupted with cheers. “Stay on, stay on!” she screamed as Connor rocked from the impact and flew back on his mount.

Connor struggled up, reined in his mount, turned in a circle, and then stopped, finally, in the middle of the field. Effie shouted for joy, her yells drowned out by the cheers of the crowd, including Isabelle and David, who were cheering as loudly as anyone.

Stable hands surrounded the horse, managed to get Connor off the monster, and took the exhausted animal back to the stables. Connor removed his helm and raised a hand to the crowd as they cheered.

“My friends,” shouted David in a booming voice. He was forced to repeat himself several times before the crowd quieted. “We have seen a spectacle the likes of which I doubt we shall ever see again. I hereby name winner of the joust and the winner of the Robin Hood challenge as Sir Connor Maclachlan!”

The crowd cheered again and Connor waved and acknowledged their praise.

“And now,” called David in a voice that left no doubt that he was laird of the Campbells, “let Sir Connor come forth to be presented with his prize.” David held the golden shield.

Effie stood too. As Maid Marian, it was her honor to bestow the winner with a kiss.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” the crowd began chanting.

Effie smiled in anticipation. Although she disliked her one experience with kissing, she was more than willing to try it again.

Unfortunately, she was not the only lass who had this sentiment. Several young ladies, including the two who had given him their tokens, ran up to him. One threw her arms around him. The other was even bolder and grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him on the lips. The crowd cheered again.

Effie did not. She sat back down and smoothed her skirts. One of those attractive lasses would no doubt be the next Lady Maclachlan. A title she would never have.

He walked forward to the stands, a rare smile on his face. He must have enjoyed his kisses. She looked away. Men were all alike, she supposed, though at least this one had the decency to tell her he had found another.

A roar from the other side of the castle wall and the crowd quieted to hear what was happening.

“The English!” shouted a sentry from the castle wall. “They are moving forward, maybe an attack!”

The mood in the courtyard dropped as if a sudden ice storm had frozen the cheer on people’s lips. Men ran to the battlements; women ran inside the keep.

“Take up yer positions, everyone!” shouted David.

Effie nodded to her brother and grabbed Isabelle’s hand to help her into the castle. “Come, ladies; come, children!” she called and led the women and children into the relative safety of the keep. Her heart pounded. Was it to be war?

Effie saw Isabelle inside then ran out to help bring in others, such as the elderly who may have difficulty moving quickly in such a crowd. Effie called for the musicians to come and play to provide some comfort during a difficult time.

It was not long before Laird Campbell rejoined them. “’Tis well, my friends. The English were in training determined to try to put the fear in us, but we will ne’er be cowed or defeated! Join us for the feast tonight and we will award Sir Connor with all that is his due!”

The women cheered the proclamation. They had escaped war for one more day at least.

Effie sighed. Connor’s moment of triumph had been robbed by the cursed English. And Connor’s women had robbed her of her kiss and her man.

Lady Maclachlan did not have to call for Effie this time. Effie knocked and was greeted by a smiling Lady Maclachlan, who stepped out of the sleeping quarters without a word, leaving Effie alone with Connor.

He stood in the middle of the room. His armor had been removed, but otherwise he was still in his dirty clothes, his face splattered with mud. His expression was unreadable, and Effie had no idea whether or not he was happy to see her.

Despite his choice of another bride, Effie had felt she needed to come to thank him and to help him. She had asked him to put Malcolm in the dirt, and he had risked his life on a crazed horse to oblige her. The least she could do was show her appreciation.

“Ye were amazing. I canna tell ye how pleased I am that ye won,” said Effie.

Connor grunted in reply. “I hope ye enjoyed the spectacle.”

“Ye were remarkable. I kept fearing ye would be bucked off.”

“I shared yer fears.”

“What a mount to choose. I have never seen the like.” Effie stepped closer. Though Connor had never looked worse, she had never seen him so handsome.

“He is named after the demon Grendel and shares a similar disposition.”

“Perhaps they ought to have named him Rainbow Kitten instead.”

One side of Connor’s mouth twitched up. “I fear it would hardly improve his demeanor.”

“Perhaps not, but the image of Malcolm sitting in the mud will be amusement for me for a long time to come.”

Connor could not help a small smile from showing on his face. “Aye. ’Twas the best part o’ the day.”

“But I hope to make it better.” Effie held up the jar of salve.

Connor sighed. “Aye, that is welcome. But now I must bathe and change for the feast tonight.”

He was attempting to be rid of her, but she would not leave quite so easily. “I shall help.”

“Dinna need help.” He attempted to remove his surcoat but winced with the effort.

“Are ye hurt?” Effie ran to him and began feeling his arms, looking for possible wounds.

“Nay, only tired.”

“We shall see.” Effie began to untie his surcoat.

“What do ye think ye are doing?”

“Undressing ye. And dinna think o’ stopping me. ’Tis the least I can do after all ye have done for me.” She was determined to help and had no interest in leaving the room. Effie let the surcoat drop to the ground.

“I can do it myself,” Connor grumbled, but softly so as not to actually get her to stop.

Effie smiled. “Aye, but then I could’na see where ye are injured.” She helped him remove his padded hauberk and his shirt. Her smiled faded as he stood before her, naked from the waist up. He was so handsome it took her a few moments of gawking before she remembered she was supposed to be looking for injuries.

“Are ye hurt anywhere?” she asked quickly.

Connor shrugged then winced.

“He got ye in the shoulder.” Effie could see a purple bruise beginning to form. “Here sit.” She pointed to a stool next to a bucket. “I see they brought up hot water for you.”

Connor obliged her and sat on the stool. Effie took a cloth, dunked it in hot water, and began to wash him. First she touched his face; she gently wiped away the dirt. He closed his eyes and she could appreciate his face without him seeing her stare.

He was a handsome man; there could be no denying. His nose was straight, his cheekbones high, and his eyes, when open, were the oddest shade of silver gray.

He opened those eyes, meeting hers with his intense gaze. Effie swallowed on a dry throat and reached into the bucket for fresh water. She placed the wet cloth on his shoulder and squeezed. The water ran down in rivulets, forming wet trails down his toned chest and over the rippling muscles of his stomach.

Effie had a sudden compulsion to lick off the water. She shook her head and got more water, hoping to wash away such shocking thoughts. What was wrong with her?

She grabbed the balm and began to massage it into sore muscles and more gently into bruises. A low groan escaped from Connor. He might pretend distance, but he was not immune to her ministrations. On the contrary, he appeared to be surrendering to the sensations she was arousing.

Desire slinked through her, so stealthily she almost did not recognize it at first. This was the man who made her heart beat fast. This was the man who made her tingle in strange places. This was the man she could have married, but now she had gone and ruined it. He had, at her urging no less, found another lass to wed.

Effie took a deep breath and let it out slowly, careful to remain behind him so he could not see her fight back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She finally found the man she was looking for and it was too late. She was a fool.

She snuck another good look at him and was startled by what she saw. “Connor. Ye are bleeding!” A red patch on the breeches over his right thigh grabbed her attention.

“Malcolm caught my thigh in one of the rounds.”

“Bastard!” muttered Effie. “I was such a fool. How could I ever have fancied myself in love with Sir Malcolm?”

“He can be charming when he chooses to be,” Connor admitted reluctantly.

“I do apologize if ye have been hurt on my account. I confess I did enjoy ye tossing him on the ground, but I dinna wish ye to be injured.”

“I would do anything ye asked.” Connor’s eyes were open and true. “I also enjoyed throwing him in the mud. Most likely more than I should have, if I was a charitable man.”

“I would no’ change yer character in the slightest.” She met his eyes.

He attempted to stand, but winced and sat back down on the stool.

“I fear I must ask ye to shed yer breeches so I can bind yer wound,” said Effie, trying to keep her voice calm despite her rapid heart rate. The wound needed to be dressed, but her interest was so much more than healing.

Connor hesitated.

“Ye are wearing short clothes, no?” Her voice wavered.

Connor nodded slowly.

“Would ye prefer yer mother?”

Conner shook his head and stood, slowly removing his breeches. Effie’s heart pounded. He stood before her in nothing but his short clothes. How she could have ever had her head turned by Malcolm was beyond her. The epitome of the perfect man was standing before her.

Effie steeled herself against treacherous thoughts. She had thrown away her chance with Connor. He had chosen another. Now she was here to help him, not ogle him. Though the latter was proving difficult to avoid.

She needed to be more like her sister-in-law, who was a known healer. She had taught the Campbell sisters a bit about healing, enough to clean and bind a wound, and that is where Effie needed to keep her focus.

“’Tis no’ too bad. Truly small. I’ve seen much bigger,” said Effie, trying to reassure the patient.

Instead of reassured, Connor looked stricken. “I do hope ye are referring to the cut.”

“Aye, what else…” Effie realized what he was talking about. And then she could not help but stare at him
there
. And then her face burned like fire. “Well…well then.” She turned away with a cough. “I should get some water.”

She hustled to the bucket and had a sudden compulsion to dunk her own head in it to cool down. She took a calming breath, grabbed the wet cloth and some bandages, and returned to the man of her desire.

He was stunning, his muscles taut and defined. He was tall and trim and oh so attractive. She pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the cut on his thigh. It did look painful. There was nothing like an oozing wound to get one’s mind back onto the task at hand.

“Sit down again and I will do what I can,” Effie said with cool detachment. She could only hope he would not realize her pounding pulse had nothing to do with dressing the wound.

Connor sat without a word.

The cut was a gash about three inches long. Effie began to wash it as gently as she could, but though he said nothing, she knew she was hurting him.

“Do ye have any whiskey?” asked Effie.

“Aye,” said Connor. Of course he did. He was a Scot after all. He pointed to a chest and she quickly retrieved it.

Effie handed the flask to Connor and he took a liberal swig. She took it back and hesitated. He was not going to like this. “Lady Campbell has a theory about how to clean wounds.”

Connor frowned. “How?”

“With this.” Effie poured some of the whiskey into the cut.

“Son of a—!” Connor hollered and jumped up.

“I am sorry!” cried Effie. “Isabelle told me about it when she first met David. He was gored by a wild boar, and she tended his wound with whiskey. Though now that I recall the story, I’m no’ sure if she used the whiskey because she did not have water or because the whiskey was good for a cut.”

“Whiskey is no’ good for a cut!” Connor was adamant on this point.

“Isabelle is a much better healer. Would ye like me to call her?”

“Nay, I pray ye would’na call yer brother’s wife to tend to me whilst I am almost naked.”

“Fine! I was only trying to help.” Effie had always thought Isabelle’s story of how she helped David was quite romantic. The reality of the angry Highlander before her was not at all what she had pictured.

Connor folded his arms over his naked chest. Heaven help her but she could not help but be attracted to this man. He was everything she wanted. Why could she not have figured this out a few days ago?

“I ken ye are trying to help,” muttered Connor.

“Sit down and I shall finish then. All I have to do is bind it. I dinna think it needs stitching.”

Connor sat down, his eyebrows clamped down in a suspicious manner. “No whiskey. No stitching either.”

“Fine.” Effie kneeled beside him to place the bandage. She took a long strip of linen and began to wind it around his thigh. Despite her frustrations with this man, the intimacy of what she was doing was not lost on her. She tried to focus on what she was doing, but she glanced up and their eyes met.

His mouth was slightly open, and she realized her position kneeling before him could be misconstrued by anyone who happened to walk in. More than that, while she could claim no familiarity regarding the male anatomy, she knew enough to suggest that her patient at least felt well enough to show her some decided interest.

Effie tied the bandage and jumped to her feet. “Well now! Ye should be healed soon, I warrant.”

“Aye.” Connor’s voice was raspy. “I ought to dress for the feast.”

“Do ye wish for help?”

“Nay!” Connor cleared his throat and tried again. “I thank ye for all yer help, but I shall don the plaid tonight.”

Which meant he would lose the short clothes.

“Verra well then.” Effie gave him a curtsy. “I should take my leave.” She turned to leave but circled back. “About our engagement. Ye ken my attempt to find another has failed, yet I suspect ye have found a true love.” Effie needed to know the truth.

Connor stood slowly. “Aye. My heart has been claimed.”

Effie bit her lip and turned away, busying herself with tidying the washing cloths. “Verra good. I am glad for ye. I will speak wi’ David, and he can dissolve any arrangement between us.”

Connor took her hands and got her attention. “Have ye found yer true love?”

Effie gazed up into his silver eyes. “Aye, I have.” Effie blinked away emotion. “But tell me now, who is the lass who has stolen yer heart?”

“Good eve to ye, children.” Lady Maclachlan came bustling into the room. She gave them a wide smile at finding them holding hands. “I do apologize for the interruption, but ye must get dressed for the feast.”

Effie stepped back and swept Connor a deep curtsy. “Maid Marian awaits yer presence at the feast.”

“Sir Robin is honored beyond words.”

Effie fled the room.