Highlander Taken. Juliette Miller
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noticing fully only then that they were the only two in attendance.
“They’ve gone to watch the men. There’s some sort of swordplay competition going on.”
“Why aren’t you with them?” I knew Bonnie’s secret lover, Jamie, was among our visiting troops, as he had recently been made a junior officer. Bonnie, although a year younger than I, had an adventurous nature and an outlook that made her seem more worldly than the rest of us. Being the niece rather than the daughter of our clan’s laird had given her and her sister, Lottie, a freedom that we lacked. Although they were not allowed to marry until at least one of us had secured a favorable match, they escaped much of the tyranny of our father. That, he reserved for us. And Bonnie, especially, took full advantage of her position. She took risks that the rest of us found forbidding. I knew, for one, that she often crept out the window of our chambers at night, climbing down a rickety ivy trellis, to spend secret hours with Jamie in the stable loft.
“We were waiting for you to wake,” said Bonnie.
Bonnie and Ann helped me dress, brushing my hair back into some semblance of order after my fitful sleep. I wore a bright jewel-green dress and the gold chain necklace that was as much a part of me as the strands of my hair or the light amber color of my eyes. In a spirit of generosity I had not personally witnessed in my father, he had given my mother a gift of jewelry at the birth of each one of her five daughters. She died when we were very young children, and each of us inherited the individual pieces that corresponded with our own births. The year of my birth must have been a prosperous one, and my sisters agreed that my gift was the most prized of all. It was made of hammered rose gold, small and simple oval rings strung together in a long chain I could slip over my head if I choose to. But I rarely took it off and wore it as a much now as a talisman as I did as a tribute to my mother’s memory. The necklace also served as a reminder that my father had once possessed love, and enough of it to bestow lavish, thoughtful gifts; I wondered if he’d loved her so much that he’d used all his love up. He certainly didn’t seem to have much of it left for us. If anything, my mother’s death had twisted my father’s love into something resembling bitterness, as though he blamed us. And I, the daughter most like her in looks and in character, seemed to inspire the most fervent of this vengeful ire. He was angry at her for leaving him. He was angry at us for somehow stealing the life from her. I embodied all of his resentment, which had festered with each passing year.
We walked through the halls of the Mackenzie manor and it was clear by the cleanliness and vibrant artistry of the decorating that diligent care was commonplace at Kinloch. I admired the attention to detail that was obviously practiced in all areas of upkeep.
Our own keep, it had to be said, was not nearly so meticulously and lovingly cared for. I doubted many were. Mackenzie workers of all stations appeared to be not only dedicated to their tasks but also enjoying themselves. We passed several servants who were laughing as they paid particular attention to the correct placement of a flower arrangement, clearly enjoying each other’s company as they worked, and allowed to do so.
Then, as we strolled through a picturesque garden on our way to the training grounds, we stopped to watch one of the gardeners give a demonstration. He was explaining the mechanics of a clever new watering device, and each of us was as engrossed by his enthusiasm as the other gardeners were.
I rarely saw that kind of camaraderie among our own staff, and wondered at the difference. My father’s ruling overseers took care of all the duties of our keep, including the grounds and the upkeep of the manor itself. He had not thought to pass those duties on to his daughters—something I hadn’t paused to consider before now. My father had sequestered us too much, maybe, or thought us not up to the task of managing the manor and all its labor. In fact, we had few duties to perform and found ourselves idle much of the time. As I watched this inventive, engaging gardener and his audience, I thought it might be nice to find such satisfaction in work and in having something truly useful to offer.
After recent events, I wouldn’t have dared to bring up any subject other than marriage to a nobleman to my father, but it occurred to me that I could perhaps discuss it with Maisie; if her bid to marry to Wilkie was successful, Maisie would, in time, become the new Lady of Glenlochie. She would have some say in the workings of the clan, and would therefore be able to—if Wilkie agreed—allow us certain leniencies. Perhaps more than we’d ever had. The thought lent a nimble note of optimism to the day.
We neared the training grounds, and we could hear the shouts and commotion of the men’s activity. Dust rose in the sun-drenched light.
Reaching the place where a small crowd had converged to watch the sparring, we found Clementine, Agnes, Lottie and Maisie. My light mood faded slightly at the sight of Maisie’s troubled expression, and I recalled Wilkie’s disappearance with the exotic blonde stranger last night. I went to my sister, who I’d always been close to despite her high-strung nature, and linked my arm through hers, reading her thoughts. “Laird Mackenzie is as dedicated to sealing the alliance between our clans as Father is,” I said, reading her concerns.
“I know,” she agreed with some despondency, adding quietly, “Wilkie hasn’t appeared yet this morning.” Nor had she—the blonde stranger—this was clear from my sister’s expression. My eyes scanned the crowd in a silent confirmation.
At the far end of the sparring arena, Laird Mackenzie and our father were deep in discussion. I thought that a good sign.
“The negotiations for your wedding to Wilkie are already well under way,” I said in an attempt to console her. “You know that. They’re likely discussing it now. ’Tis why we’re here, after all. We’ve all heard Father say it often enough—the Mackenzie alliance is crucial to our military position and can only be secured irrevocably by the bonds of marriage.”
“’Tis true,” agreed Agnes, overhearing and adjusting a curl of Maisie’s hair. “They’re probably finalizing the arrangement. You might even be wed as soon as tomorrow.”
Bonnie’s eyes followed Jamie, her betrothed. He entered the ring to face off against one of the lower-ranked Mackenzie officers. Without taking her eyes from Jamie, Bonnie prodded Maisie gently. “When Wilkie becomes laird, our new lady will have only the best interests of her sisters and cousins in mind, to be sure.”
We watched Jamie take his place, and I couldn’t help reflecting on Jamie’s similarities to his younger brother. His hair was a slightly darker shade than Caleb’s. And in his soldier’s stance I could see he was taller and broader; Jamie’s was a more imposing stature. The distinct family resemblance only succeeded in reminding me of my lingering heartbreak, which had faded by the mildest degree. Maybe it was the bright sunlight or the bustling, charged activity of the scene, but I felt less sorrowful than I had in several weeks—since Caleb’s hasty departure, in fact.
“Aye,” Clementine, my eldest sister, whose tone was laced with an edge of resigned woe, added. “Eventually, our new laird might even allow us to marry whoever we choose to.”
Poor Clementine. True to his character, our father had forced Clementine to make the choices she had made, regarding the men who had humiliated her. Twice she’d been engaged and twice she’d been shunted at the altar, a series of events that had finally convinced her that her true path was to join a convent. She was due to leave soon after the harvest. It occurred to me then that maybe the men had deserted her because they’d been forced into marriage against their will, and had been unable to follow through at the crucial moment. I knew Clementine would never have complained in the face of my father’s decisions; we’d been trained all our lives to treat our father’s decisions as gospel. And if we ever protested, he had no reservations about using the back of his hand—or his whip, less frequently—to quiet our insolence. He was laird, after all: all-powerful, and with the larger needs of the clan to consider, rather than the only selfish desires of his children. But with all that had recently transpired, my blood boiled at the injustice of it.
I hadn’t thought of it before, but my sisters were right. Once Wilkie wed Maisie, he would be in line to take over the title of Laird Morrison, after the passing of my father. As much as I feared my father, I didn’t wish him dead, yet I