The Wrong Highland Bridegroom: A Novella Page 2

  “My dear Euphemia.” Laird Maclachlan himself greeted her at the door. He had a well-trimmed silver beard to match his silver eyes. He was tall, like his son. “Ye do us great honor to break bread with us.”

  Laird Maclachlan offered her his arm and walked her slowly to the table. He walked with a noticeable limp and Effie was at once conscious of the honor he had given her by walking her into the room.

  “The honor is mine,” murmured Effie.

  Lady Maclachlan gazed at her with tears in her eyes. “Effie, my sweet child. I have always wanted a daughter, and now the Lord has answered my prayers.” Lady Maclachlan embraced her firmly, then squeezed even tighter. Effie patted the woman on the back, desperately trying to draw breath. The embrace was apparently not going to end soon.

  I’m sorry, mouthed Connor from behind his mother.

  “There now, let the lass breathe,” said Laird Maclachlan, and much to Effie’s relief, Lady Maclachlan let her go.

  Effie hoped to eat a little and run away, but Laird and Lady Maclachlan clearly had other ideas. First Effie was introduced to Connor’s five uncles and their wives, then she met his seven female cousins and his five male cousins and their respective spouses. Much to Effie’s embarrassment, everyone she met presented her with a gift for her wedding. Soon she had a bounty of gifts piled around her feet: silk cloth, feather pillows, embroidered linen, silver candlesticks, gold thread—their generosity knew no bounds.

  “And I give to ye this.” Lady Maclachlan nodded to two ghillies who carried a large, engraved cedar chest to the middle of the room.

  At Lady Maclachlan’s urging, Effie opened the chest and found a fortune in gowns. There were silk gowns and wool gowns and linen gowns. There were linen chemises and gauzy veils. The materials were fine and the needlework on the gowns was exquisite.

  Effie shook her head, feeling smaller and smaller with each passing minute. “Nay, ’tis too much,” she whispered. She glanced at Connor, whose lips tightened into a thin line.

  “I had many bairns whom the Lord called to heaven before me,” Lady Maclachlan spoke in a near whisper and the entire room silenced. “I made a wardrobe for each o’ my daughters and now ye shall wear them and turn my sorrow into joy, my suffering into rejoicing.”

  “I…I dinna ken what to say.” Effie’s voice was weak, much like how she felt. How could she break this woman’s heart by not marrying her son?

  “Ye dinna need to say a thing.” Lady Maclachlan’s voice was warm and she took Effie’s hands in her own. “I ken ye lost yer own sweet mother, as I have lost my daughters. I only hope in time ye may look upon me as yer own mother.”

  Tears sprung to Effie’s eyes, though whether due to the kindness of Connor’s mother or her own guilt at her deception, she could not say. This earned Effie another hug from Connor’s mother, which was soon joined by the aunts and the female cousins, all of whom were speaking of happy futures and wiping tears of joy from their eyes. Effie had never felt so adored nor so low.

  The meal was a long one. The nicer everyone was to Effie, the worse she felt. When the food was finally cleared from the table, Connor asked quietly to speak with her privately and she indicated the tower. Unfortunately, the comment was overheard and one of the uncles announced the young couple was seeking time alone.

  The clan made happy humming noises until Effie thought she might expel her meal. She smiled weakly and curtsied her way to the door.

  “I had no idea they were going to do that,” said Connor when they finally were alone on the tower.

  “How can yer family be so nice?” Effie accused. “Are they always like that?”

  “They are a kind people,” Connor admitted. “And my mother has been planning my wedding day since I was in the cradle.”

  “Och, yer mother. How can I disappoint her?” Effie leaned against the stone parapets. “I wish yer mother was less kind. I may have to marry ye after all,” she said gloomily.

  “Let us see what we can do to avoid that tragedy,” said Connor dryly.

  “I dinna mean to suggest marrying ye would be…” Effie paused, trying to find the right words.

  “A fate of unspeakable horror?” suggested Connor in a helpful sort of tone.

  “Nay, ye are jesting wi’ me. Ye are quite a goodly match. And even if ye were a troll, yer mother’s trunk full o’ gowns would turn the head of any young lass.”

  “I shall be sure to mention it in conversation when I find a prospective bride.”

  “Aye, do. Better yet, hang them on parade and take the lass with the largest dowry,” said Effie, continuing the jest.

  “Ah, but I think my parents already did that.”

  Effie turned away with a blush. The Campbells were a wealthy clan, and she herself was well-dowered, though it embarrassed her to think of it.

  “I am sorry if I offended,” said Conner in a soft voice.

  “Nay, what ye said is true. I understand I can add to the coffers of any young man. Yet I should so much wish to be prized for my inner character or even my outward appearance, rather than my price.”

  Connor leaned an elbow on the stone parapets beside her. “And so ye shall.”

  “I thought perhaps today…” Effie stared over the lush green valley below, dotted scenically with white, fluffy sheep. It was not quite shearing time and the sheep were heavy laden, and she knew from experience rather smelly, but at this distance they were like picturesque little clouds dotting the landscape.

  “Ye met someone?” Connor’s voice was neutral. He also looked out over the valley.

  “Aye.” Effie shrugged. “Mayhap. Yet how can I seek true love and break yer mother’s heart?”

  “My mother will survive, make no mistake. She wants to see me happy. If I convince her I have found a lass that makes me happier, she will turn her love to a new bride.”

  “And my dowry?” Effie was afraid to look at him.

  “’Tis no concern.”

  Effie exhaled a breath she had not known she was holding. “Truly? I should no’ like to hurt anyone.”

  “Yer scruples do ye credit, but fear not. Now tell me, who is the man who has captured yer heart?”

  Effie could not help but smile when she thought of him. “His name is Sir Malcolm Douglas. Do ye know o’ him?”

  “Aye, but no’ well.” Connor folded his arms across his chest.

  “He was quite attentive to me today. And what o’ ye? Have ye found another yer mother will adore?” Effie rejected a pang of regret that she would not be that lass. She could not ask for a more loving family.

  “Nay, no’ yet. I shall have to look wi’ more diligence.”

  “Aye, ye should. I canna verra well marry another if yer mother has no bride for her son.”

  “Verra true,” conceded Connor, yet his attention was taken by something in the sky. “Do ye have falcon messengers?”

  “Nay. My brother keeps falcons and hawks only for hunting. Perhaps another clan. Why do ye ask?”

  “A falcon coming in wi’ a missive tied to its leg.”

  “Where?” Effie scanned the skies. Connor pointed, and following his direction, Effie noted only a black dot in the sky. “How can ye see that?”

  “I have been told my eyes are good.”

  “If ye can see anything other than a black speck, ye have uncommonly good eyes.”

  “The falcon does seem to be heading this way,” said Connor.

  Effie could only agree and watched as the bird flew closer. “It’s Fred!”

  “Fred?”

  “Winifred. My sister’s merlin falcon. Ye say it has something on its leg?” Effie held out her arm as the bird approached, hoping it would think her to be Elyne and come home. She was in luck. Fred swooped in and gracefully pulled up to land on Effie’s arm. The talons were sharp, but she was more interested in reading the missive tha
t was attached.

  Without having to be asked, Connor gently held the bird still and untied the little scroll of paper, handing it to her.

  Effie read it quickly as the dreadful meaning gripped her. She grabbed Conner’s arm. “Och, nay! We must see David at once!”

  Three

  Connor followed the attractive form of Effie Campbell as she ran into the solar where David was conferring with some of the other lairds regarding the tournament. Already this clan gathering was much different than what he expected, and if the missive was correct, it was about to get even more complicated.

  “David!” Effie rushed to him, the scrawled note in her hand.

  “What is wrong?” Laird Campbell was a large man, quick with a frown. He gave Connor a steely look. It was clear he would have more than words with anyone who hurt his sister.

  “Elyne’s falcon returned with a note,” cried Effie. “She went for a ride and has seen the English marching against us! She is caught outside the valley wi’ Tavish Grant and they canna return wi’out being seen.”

  “The English have come now?” David Campbell reached for the missive and Effie handed it over. His brow furrowed deeper as he read the small note. “Ye are sure this came from Elyne’s falcon?”

  “I am. I am sure my twin wrote that missive,” said Effie.

  David turned to the other lairds. “Forgive this interruption. I must investigate this report.”

  He ran for the outer wall walk, followed by Connor, Effie, and all the lairds. On the outer wall walk, they all scanned the valley below. Were the English marching to attack?

  “I see nothing,” muttered David.

  “Elyne would never send such a missive wi’out good cause,” defended Effie.

  Connor scanned the valley carefully, methodically working his way up into the hills beyond. At last he saw what he feared he might. “Look!” He pointed in the far hills. “I see something. A glint of metal.”

  David squinted in the direction Connor was pointing. “I see naught.”

  “Trust him, David,” said Effie. “He has the sight.”

  Connor was pleased by her defense of him. So far his prospective bride wished to have little to do with him. At least she appreciated his vision if nothing else.

  David turned to Connor as if evaluating his worth. David could not see what he saw. Would he trust him? Finally, David gave a curt nod. “Ring the alarm, bring everyone inside the gates!”

  A few moments later, the bells rang and people ran about, rushing into the castle gates. People in the valley ran across the green toward the castle, herding their animals as they went.

  “We need to prepare.” David took Effie’s hand and put it into Connor’s. He wrapped their joined hands in his own. “Take care of her,” he said to Connor. His eyes bore into him and Connor understood; David was trusting his sister to his protection.

  “I will,” said Connor. It was a vow.

  David squeezed his hand, sealing the arrangement. Effie may wish to wed another, but David Campbell certainly expected Connor to wed his sister and care for her forever.

  With that, Campbell left, barking orders to servants and guests alike. The lairds followed him with equally vociferous instructions to their clansmen.

  Connor stood holding hands with Effie, momentarily alone on the wall walk. Connor thought to drop her hand, but he noted tears welling in her eyes and held on in the hope it would bring her comfort. The wind played with her blond tresses and she turned her face to the sun. She was beautiful. Absolutely stunning.

  He could not believe his good fortune when he first met her. She was the most beautiful lass he had ever seen, outshining even her identical twin in his estimation. He had always been of a serious, taciturn nature. Bonnie lasses left him with little conversation; Effie Campbell left him speechless.

  Effie took a deep breath, attempting to keep her emotions at bay. It was not to be. Tears spilled from her beautiful blue eyes.

  “May I be of help to ye?” asked Connor softly, even as Effie attempted surreptitiously to wipe the tears from her eyes. If his mother had taught him anything, it was how to be comforting to a lady in pain.

  “My sister is somewhere out there with some strange man. The English are coming to attack us or put us under siege. And yer mother is probably embroidering even more lovely gowns for me.”

  “Nay, dinna be distressed.”

  Effie looked up with deep blue, swimming eyes.

  “My mother only does her needlework in the morning light.”

  His dry humor brought a brief smile to her lips. It hovered but vanished as quickly as it came. “My poor sister. She is trapped out there with some unknown man and the English army.”

  “I know Tavish a little. He is a good man. It will be well.”

  “How can ye know for sure?”

  Connor shrugged. “I canna know for sure, but ye need to have hope. One canna live wi’out hope.” It was the one thing he had learned from the losses of all his young siblings. When trials came, you could either crumble in defeat or hold on to hope.

  Effie took a deep, calming breath. “Aye. Ye be right. To live wi’out hope ’tis no life at all.”

  “Aye.” Connor still held Effie’s hand. He had no interest in letting it go.

  Effie turned to the valley and gasped, yanking her hand free to cover her mouth with her shock. “I can see them now.”

  Connor nodded. He had been watching the English army approach for a while. They had clearly come prepared to take back Alnsworth castle—by force if necessary. The bright sun glinted off their armor, shields, and tips of their pikes in a display both impressive and terrifying. Mounted knights approached first, followed by divisions of soldiers marching in tight, precise formations. They were not serfs rounded up for a melee; these were seasoned warriors, experienced and deadly.

  “I fear my hope is beginning to wane,” whispered Effie.

  “Then look away,” replied Connor. “I find in a battle between hope and truth, it is best to turn away from the real and cling to what one hopes for.”

  “And ye find this practical?”

  “Nay. But I feel better.”

  A slow smile crept over Effie’s face and he returned it. Something warm and tingly coursed through him. He had expected to secure an arranged and advantageous marriage as was expected for the future laird of his clan. He had not expected to feel warm and tingly for anyone, certainly not his bride. It was…unnatural.

  Could Effie’s odd notions about finding true love actually have merit? He edged a little closer to her even as the English marched ever nearer. As a sober, thoughtful, reasonable man, he might have to explore this befuddling concept of love.

  Four

  The castle was unnaturally silent, as if everyone, from the master to the stable lad’s dog, were holding their breath. Effie crouched behind the stone battlements. Her brother would not be pleased, but she had to see what was going to happen.

  The English mounted knights approached, forming a long line. The foot soldiers stood behind them in neat rows. Effie understood this show of force was intended to impress, but it was depressing just how effective the spectacle was. Her brother rode out to meet the knights in full battle dress. He was flanked by all the lairds in similar attire. Effie noted that Connor rode forward in place of his father.

  “Hail Alnsworth Castle!” cried an English lord when they were just within bowshot of each other. “I come with a message from His Majesty the King of England and France. You are inhabiting the castle and grounds belonging to Lord Lockton. It is hereby demanded that you remove yourselves immediately or a state of war will exist between us.”

  “I am the Laird Campbell,” bellowed her brother at them. “I am the rightful master of Alnsworth through marriage to Lady Isabelle, the Countess of Tynsdale. I dinna recognize yer claim of ownership.”

&nbs
p; “Alnsworth Castle was granted to Lady Isabelle’s cousin, Lord Lockton, by His Majesty King Edward the third.” One of the mounted knights held aloft a scroll.

  “Yer king is not my king. I dinna recognize his authority over me, my people, or my land. However, I am willing to negotiate following the terms I have set.”

  The voices of the knights dropped and Effie strained to hear the conversation against the rushing of the wind. One English knight removed his helm and stepped forward. “What are your terms?” asked the younger knight.

  Campbell nodded to Connor, who took up a bow. Effie gasped. Was Connor to fire the first shot? Was it to be war?

  Connor pulled back on his bow and Effie noticed something peculiar with the arrow. He released his shaft and it flew true to the wooden shield slung at the side of one of the knights. It stuck into the wood, a small bundle of papers wrapped around the arrow shaft. Connor had shot a message attached to the arrow, now stuck to the shield.

  It was an amazing shot.

  Effie’s jaw dropped and stayed there. It was more than remarkable; it was an extraordinary risk. If the shaft had gone astray even the smallest bit, it could have hit the knight’s horse—or the knight himself. As it was, it was stuck to the middle of the shield. Her brother must have complete confidence in Connor, or he would never have let him shoot. If he had missed, it would have been immediate war.

  The horses of the English knights skittered sideways and their impressive line was ruined. Effie smiled. There were other more conventional ways to deliver their terms to the English, but her brother was sending a message. He was not afraid to fight.

  She hoped and prayed it would not come to that.

  Her brother and the lairds spun their mounts and galloped back to the castle. Connor looked up. She could not see his face in the distance, but he saw her—she knew it. Effie quickly made her way down to the courtyard. It would not do to let her brother find her on the walk. From now on, she would need to be more cautious.

  Despite the number of people present, the courtyard was oddly quiet. Everyone was wondering what Campbell would say. Would it be war? Would it be a siege? Could they negotiate themselves out of it?