My Highland Lover (30 page)

A pleading whine escaped Karma as he propped his wet muzzle atop Trulie’s shoulder. Trulie rolled back on her heels and swallowed hard. The combined aroma of wet dog and whatever rotted thing Karma had rolled in pushed her stomach dangerously close to reversing gears and tossing up her breakfast.

Trulie pressed her lips tighter together and rubbed her mouth against her shoulder. Maybe she would feel better if she did puke. Nausea was torture. Trulie pushed herself to her feet and rubbed her fists against the small of her back. What a way to feel on her wedding day—an ever-present urge to gag and a dull throbbing ache in her lower back, as though her body was about to snap in two. What a lovely day this was going to be.

Karma looked up at her with sad, brown eyes. His tail swished back and forth in the tub with a
please don’t be mad at me
wag. Trulie clamped her mouth shut tight as she poured another bucket of water over Karma’s back. Her lungs burned for want of air as she tried to speak without inhaling Karma’s aroma. “You know you’re going to get a bath whenever you roll in something dead. If you don’t want a bath, stop rolling in stuff that stinks.” Trulie held on to the side of the wooden tub as a violent gag nearly knocked her off balance.

This is ridiculous.
Wedding or no wedding, she was done. She felt like crap and would be better off if she just went back to bed. Trulie stood and pointed toward the far side of the garden. “Go lay down under those shade trees. You’re just going to have to stay in the garden until some of your
eau de stink
wears off. No wedding feast for you.”

Karma immediately leaped out of the tub and shook what appeared to be a gallon of water free from his fur.

“Karma!” Trulie shied away from the curtain of water a second too late.

“Trulie Elizabeth Sinclair, I cannot believe you’re out here washing the dog on the morning of your wedding day.” Granny appeared in the doorway, one fist on her hip while she jabbed the other hand toward the inside of the keep. “Get in here right now. Your own bath is ready and time’s a wastin’.”

Trulie silently wished she could just stretch out in the shade with Karma and take a nap. Karma might stink, but he was a lot quieter than Granny. That patch of cushiony moss beneath the oak looked extremely inviting.

“Trulie—now.”

Trulie massaged the back of her neck as she obediently turned and followed Granny. Maybe a nice, long bath would make her feel better. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck from side to side. She must’ve slept crooked or something. Every muscle was stiff. Visions of porcelain tubs and pulsating showerheads with steaming-hot jets of water flitted through her mind. A wistful sigh escaped Trulie as she rounded the corner and faced an oversized wooden tub. For some odd reason, the niceties of the future had been foremost in her mind the past few days. “Not exactly a spa with jet sprays is it?”

“What has gotten into you today?” Granny scowled back over one shoulder as she added another bucket of steaming water to the tub. “You’ve been in a foul mood ever since you raised your head off your pillow. This is your wedding day. You should be happy.”

Trulie wasn’t about to complain to Granny about not feeling well. Heaven forbid the woman brewed up another nasty remedy from ingredients Trulie probably didn’t want to know about. She best blame her mood on the latest gossip from the keep. At least that reason wouldn’t trigger some sort of noxious tea. “Colum told Coira the priest doesn’t approve of us.” There. That should give Granny something to chew on. Unfortunately, Trulie had no doubt it was true. The old familiar weight of being the odd one out blackened her mood even further. She thought she had escaped that crap when she had decided to leave the future.

Trulie shrugged her léine down off her shoulders and shucked it into a pile on the floor. She smoothed her hands down across the barely noticeable bump of her belly. A baby. A shiver of excitement tingled through her. The newest MacKenna hadn’t been planned, but Trulie had to admit, life now seemed much brighter with Gray at her side and a baby on the way. She would never let on to Granny, but coming back to the past was the best thing they had ever done.

Trulie dipped a toe in the steaming water. Perfect. The temperature was just below scalding. She eased into the tub, leaned back against the towel padding one side of the elongated barrel, and exhaled as she closed her eyes. “Coira also told me she doesn’t like the priest. Called him a beady-eyed little hypocrite…or something to that effect. I think she said part of it in Gaelic.”

“About that…” Granny uncorked a dark bottle on the stool beside the tub and poured a thin stream of fragrant oil into the bathwater. Lavender-scented steam rose from the iridescent shimmers of the perfumed liquid spreading across the surface.

“Spit it out, Granny.” Trulie cracked open an eyelid. She didn’t like the look on Granny’s face. Unpleasant news was logjammed behind Granny’s tight-lipped expression. Trulie would bet her favorite pair of jeans on it.

“There’ll be no priest,” Granny announced with an exasperated flip of both hands. She trailed her fingers atop the water and shook her head. “Gray wasn’t comfortable with all the questions the pompous little man was asking, so…” Granny’s voice trailed off and she turned back to the stool and grabbed a chunk of rose-colored soap and a folded rag.

“So…what?” Trulie straightened in the tub. No priest meant no wedding. Now what were they going to do?

“So…Gray told him to leave.” Granny soused the rag and soap in the water, then rubbed the two together until a sweet-smelling lather flowed over her hands and dripped down into the tub.

“Gray couldn’t just put up with the man for one more day? He couldn’t wait until after the ceremony to tell the guy to leave?” Trulie slid back down in the tub, held her breath, then completely submerged beneath the surface. It really wasn’t necessary for Granny to answer those questions. Trulie knew the answers well enough without even talking to Gray. Once the man set his mind to something, the devil himself couldn’t force him to change. But that didn’t change the fact that they now had no one to perform the marriage ceremony. It could take forever to get another priest this far up into the Highlands—especially this late in the summer. What about all the food? What about all those people who had come from miles away? What in blue blazes were they going to do now?

Trulie broke up through the surface of the water with a sputtering breath. “So what are we going to do now? Just have a big party?” If it was up to her, she’d sneak out the back gate, find a place to hide, and once everyone left, she and Gray could just live together. They’d already signed the marriage contract. Who needed a wedding? An involuntary twitch shook her. Lordy, she hated crowds.

“Tamhas is going to perform the ceremony.” Pride brightened Granny’s face like a ray of sunshine. “The dais has already been prepared at the front of the hall. The maids and I covered it with heather and ivy. It looks lovely, if I do say so myself.”

“Tamhas is not a priest.” Trulie plucked the soapy rag from Granny’s extended hand and scrubbed it down one arm. Her stomach did a nervous somersault at the very notion of standing up in front of the largest number of people she had seen since coming to Scotland. Great hall with Gray had been nothing compared to the teeming mass of curious villagers who had descended upon the keep.

“Tamhas doesn’t have to be a priest.” Granny shook her head, leaned both elbows against the edge of the barrel, and folded her hands. “According to the laws of the land and this time, as long as you and Gray state you are man and wife to each other, you have a marriage—whether you have witnesses or not. If you make your oath in front of Gray’s clan, the marriage will be cemented even further.”

Trulie slid down until her chin rested just above the fragrant surface of the water. She pulled in a deep breath, savoring the calming scent of lavender infusing the steam. She studied her bright-red toes peeping at her from the other end of the tub. Her black mood shifted at least three shades lighter as a plan unfolded in her mind.

“Trulie Elizabeth.” Granny’s voice took on a stern
what the devil are you up to now
tone.

“What?” Trulie raised a leg above the surface of the water and watched the steam rise from her skin.

“Don’t
what
me, gal. I don’t like that look in your eye. What are you plotting?”

Trulie took the soap and lathered a foaming path of creamy bubbles down her leg. Drawing a finger through the suds, Trulie smiled at the faint layer of hair coating her shin. That was one good thing about the past; she no longer had to shave her legs.

“Trulie!” Granny thumped the side of the tub. “Out with it. What are you plotting?”

“I want to marry Gray in private.” There. She had said it aloud. Trulie rose from the water and held out a hand for the folded linen piled on another stool. Suddenly, the overly warm water was making her stomach roll. “You know how I hate crowds. I can’t stand the idea of standing up in front of half of Scotland like a sheep about to be slaughtered.”

Granny’s mouth pulled down into a disapproving frown. She shook out the cloth and scrubbed it over Trulie’s shoulders as she stepped from the tub. “You can’t do that. Gray is the MacKenna chief. He has responsibilities to his people.”

Trulie gathered the linen under her arms and clutched it to her chest. Her mood shifted back to darkness as she padded barefoot across the stones, then plopped down on the cushioned bench beside the hearth. “What about Gray’s responsibilities to me?”

“Ye will always be first in m’heart and mind,
mo chridhe.
Why would ye doubt that?”

“Get out of here, Gray!” Granny moved in front of Gray and tried in vain to push him back out the door. “It’s bad luck for you to see Trulie before the wedding. Get out of here. Go find someplace else to be.”

Gray shifted his feet wider apart and smiled down at Granny as though she were a yapping puppy. “I’ll no’ be going anywhere until I find out what is troubling m’love.”

Trulie’s stomach shifted with a sickening flop. She swallowed hard against the urge to gag. The dried crust of bread she had forced down earlier was getting dangerously close to coming back out. She closed her eyes, pressed both hands against her temples, and eased in a deep breath through pursed lips. If she got through this day without heaving, it would be a miracle. And wouldn’t that be a fine way to impress Gray’s clan? Trulie clamped her mouth shut tighter at the mental image of blowing chunks all over Gray as they stood saying their vows. Lordy, she just couldn’t do this.

Gray moved quickly across the room and knelt down in front of her. “What is wrong? Are ye unwell?” He gathered her hands into his own while his worried gaze searched her face.

Trulie shot Granny a warning glare over the top of Gray’s head. She wet her lips as she took in another shaking breath. “I think it’s just a combination of hormones and phobias.” Trulie swallowed hard and forced a smile to her face. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hormones and pho-bee-uz?” Gray sounded out the strange word as though it felt odd on his tongue. An enlightened look brightened his face as he nodded. “The child? I have heard tell how women are often ill when they get with child.”

Trulie couldn’t help but smile at Gray’s concerned tone. In an instant, he had forgotten about the celebration he had been excited about for days. All that mattered was her. Guilt butted in and stirred up her conscience. She couldn’t be selfish and dodge the crowd. This ceremony meant a lot to Gray. Hormones and phobias be damned. She would get through this day one way or another—for him.

Gray rubbed his thumbs across his damp palms, refusing to give in to the urge to wipe them across the backside of his plaid. He stood taller and sucked in a deep breath. A contented sense of completeness buoyed him. Life was good. He forced himself to clasp his hands in front of his belted pouch.
A chief ne’er exhibits anything but strength and surety.
His father’s words echoed through his mind, causing Gray to lift his chin and stop fidgeting.

The largest room of the keep hummed with the excited conversations of his people and guests from even as far away as Ireland. Servants scurried in and out among the clusters of chatting folk, passing out small folded linens soaked in cool, fragrant water.

A trickle of sweat started between Gray’s shoulder blades and rolled down the center of his back. The gathered waist of his belted léine felt as though someone had doused him with a bucket of water.
Lore a’mighty.
Perhaps they shouldha had the ceremony outside.

The crowd went silent and heads turned as the droning sound of bagpipes rang out from the arch of entwined ivy festooned across the entrance of the hall. Two barrel-chested pipers, faces red and cheeks rounded as they puffed into their chanters, flanked Trulie as she stood smiling in the doorway.

Pride and love burned through Gray with every hammer of his heart. There she was. His woman. The mother of his unborn child. Gray drew in a deep breath.
Thank the gods she took that jump back in time.

Trulie wore a simple dress of the whitest linen. The tempting mounds of her full bosoms rounded pink above a scooped neckline embroidered with a design of trailing ivy. The high waistline flowed out into graceful folds that barely stirred as Trulie moved slowly toward him. The long bell-shaped sleeves hemmed with more carefully stitched leaves of green gently swayed with every step.

Lore a’mighty.
Gray couldna help it. He shifted his weight from side to side. Surely even father would have fidgeted if mother had ever come to him in such a way. Gray swallowed hard against the sudden dryness of his mouth. He was blessed beyond measure and was about to wed an angel.

The throng parted, smiling and nodding as the pipers filled the hall with the soulful wail of their song and led Trulie to the front of the room.

As Trulie reached the dais, Gray stepped forward and held out his hand. “I have ne’er seen such loveliness.” Unspeakable emotion hitched his words into a broken whisper.