Yield to the Highlander. Terri Brisbin
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Connor turned and watched as his wife reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the chamber door, smiling at their eldest as she caught sight of him there. Then her gaze met his own and the warmth of her love shot through him. As it always did.
‘So, have you told him yet?’ she asked as she passed Aidan and came to stand before him. Her tone of voice was even, but that did not fool him for a moment—she was still not accepting that this was the time for their son to marry.
‘I awaited your arrival, love.’
Aidan glanced from him to his mother. His son should be accustomed to the endearments that crept in when they were alone, but from his expression, he seemed surprised by it.
‘And you have what to tell me?’ his son asked.
‘Based on our preliminary discussions, there are three prospective marriages.’
‘Our?’ Aidan asked. Connor would have laughed at how his son mirrored his own posture—arms crossed over his chest, feet planted in a warrior’s stance—if he had not worn his mother’s stubborn expression on his face.
‘The clan elders, Duncan, Rurik. Your mother,’ Connor replied, nodding to Jocelyn, ‘who would not be kept out of any talks that involved your future bride.’
‘And? Who are the three women?’ he asked.
‘The first is Margaret Sinclair of Caithness,’ Jocelyn explained.
‘The earl’s grandniece?’ Aidan asked.
Rurik’s father was Earl of Orkney, whose claim was through a marriage that had not resulted in a legitimate heir to inherit the title. Well, there had been a son, Rurik’s half-brother, but his unlamented death some years ago ended their father’s ability to keep the earldom in the family. The Sinclair family would be next in line once Erengisl Sunesson passed. And a marriage between Aidan and Margaret would link the MacLeries to one of the most powerful families of the north. ‘Aye.’
‘And the second?’
Connor met Jocelyn’s puzzled gaze. Aidan’s disinterest in his choices for a wife was stronger than either of them had expected. He nodded at her to continue as he watched their son’s reactions.
‘Alys MacKenzie,’ Jocelyn said. With the MacLeries’ recent ties to the Mathesons and their powerful Highland allies, the MacKenzies, it made sense to consider a direct link with them.
‘Nay,’ Aidan said, shaking his head. ‘Not a MacKenzie.’
Jocelyn threw a glance in his direction, both of them surprised by his opposition at the mere mention of the lass.
‘’Tis early in negotiations, Aidan. Let all three names stand for now.’ Connor nodded to Jocelyn to announce the third name.
‘And Elizabeth Maxwell is the last.’ Elizabeth was the eldest daughter of the Border lord and their family had strong ties to the Berkeley family in England. A good way to extend the MacLerie reach into the other kingdom.
Silence filled the room and Aidan’s expression remained blank. Uninterested? Resigned? Which one Connor knew not. Then their son let out a long sigh and nodded.
‘So how do you plan to do this? Will I have any say in the matter?’ he asked them.
‘Your mother has convinced me that, since all three are acceptable matches to us, you should have the final choice.’ Connor walked to Jocelyn’s side. ‘Each of the three have been invited to visit Lairig Dubh, so that you might meet them and take measure of whether they suit you.’
‘When will these visits begin?’
‘I am not certain. After we attend your uncle’s wedding, I think.’ His uncle Athdar had claimed Rurik’s daughter when she boldly hid away in his keep last winter. Handfasted when he discovered her, for honour’s sake, the church wedding would solemnify the joining that was already proving fruitful.
Aidan felt the tension leave his body. He had some time yet. No matter that he knew it was his duty to marry, and marry well, for the best interests of his kith and kin, he really had not wanted to do it yet. He was enjoying his life and a wife married for alliances and treaties would make it difficult to pursue his own pleasures. And he’d become accustomed to doing what, and who, he wished.
But in this moment, Aidan gave an honest appraisal of his opposition to seeking a wife now. It was the same reason he wanted no MacKenzie on that list of brides—and her name was Catriona MacKenzie. Finding her at the well was a lucky chance, but he wanted time, and the opportunity, to discover what lay beneath that smile and behind those eyes. He wanted time, undistracted by the demands of his family, to seduce her.
‘After the wedding, then,’ he said, looking from his father to his mother. Aidan tried not to look too hopeful as he waited for his parents to decide.
‘I will have Duncan begin approaching the families now,’ his father declared, staring at him as though trying to search his thoughts. ‘The roads are clear now all across the land.’
Aidan let out the breath he did not realise he’d been holding. ‘If there’s nothing else?’
His father nodded. Aidan walked to his mother and kissed her cheek. As was her custom, and in disregard for his age, she ran her fingers through his hair and touched his face as she had when he was a wee bairn. ‘Will you be at supper?’
‘Aye, I will be there,’ he said.
With nothing else to say and other tasks to see finished this day, Aidan strode from their chambers and returned to where his friends trained in the yard. His body hummed with restlessness now and he needed to work it out. Since he would not approach Catriona until her husband left, that left the other physical release of a good fight.
Aidan laughed aloud as he reached the yard and called out his challenges. With the way his blood burned for her, it would be a long afternoon in the training yard.
Chapter Three
It had been two days since Gowan departed for this new assignment and Cat’s life returned to the normal one she lived when alone. Other than Munro’s presence at supper several nights a week, she would be on her own to both accomplish her chores and tasks and for any plans she wished to make. She could even be lazy and remain abed when the sun rose, if she chose to.
Stretching out on her pallet, her hands extending into the chilled air of the cottage, she remembered that unless she stirred the fire in the small hearth there would be no warmth for her. Now fully awake with no hope of claiming another hour or so of sleep, she pushed back the blankets and shivered as the cool morning air of the cottage surrounded her. With some haste, she lit a fire, threw in some peat after the kindling caught and tossed her shawl over her shoulders to warm her in the meantime as she went about her tasks.
Though he’d come for supper last evening, Munro never slept here or spent any amount of time here unless his father was present. The sigh escaped her before she could stop it. Gowan’s son had opposed their marriage from the day he learned of his father’s plans. That it was one of convenience mattered not to the young man, for his mother’s recent passing and without the presence of young bairns who needed Catriona’s care convinced him it was unseemly. From Munro’s occasional, intense stares, she almost wondered if there was something more there.
Shaking off her disquiet, she decided to take advantage of what looked to be a break in the unsettled weather of late winter and spend the morning clearing away brush and fallen branches from the small patch of land next to the cottage that would be her garden. When the weather finally warmed, she hoped to expand the area from what she had worked last summer to something larger. Laughing with Gowan over her pitiful crop of vegetables and herbs from last season, she’d vowed to improve this year.
Kind man that he was, Gowan suggested she speak to Lady Jocelyn, for the gardens at the keep thrived under the lady’s guidance. New to Lairig Dubh and not significant enough to warrant wasting