Conall nodded. “He is a mercenary, Elspeth. A gallowglass. A professional warrior with no clan, and no loyalties, other than to serve whoever has the ability to pay him best.”
“I see,” she said, suffering a twinge of disappointment that he was only a soldier, and therefore would be deemed an unsuitable suitor, at least in the eyes of her father and their clan. Perhaps she suffered more than just a twinge.
Mercenaries were nothing new. Her father, like many clan leaders, hired them from time to time to defend their borders and their people—not only from the barbaric hill reivers, but more recently from the Alwyn, a rival clan chief whose lands bordered the MacClarens. Once an ally, he now seemed intent on provoking a confrontation.
But this man—the béist—was different than the others. Her intuition told her that. For one thing, he was undeniably moighre. Very handsome. At least the sort of handsome that made an impression on her. And according to Conall, other men considered him legendary for his fighting skills. Obviously he had power and strength—but Elspeth knew full well no warrior became legend on strength alone. There had to be intelligence as well, which she had heard distinctly in the words he spoke and observed in his blue eyes.
Conall pushed aside a wayward branch so that she and Cat could move past. “While I’m glad he was here to save the two of you, it is best you don’t speak to him again.”
Yes … Elspeth agreed, with regret. In truth, it was probably best that she not think of him again. What useful purpose would that serve?
And yet … as twilight fell, a nervous anticipation grew in the pit of her stomach. She felt intensely curious to see the man they called béist again, though she knew she shouldn’t want to.
“And which gown will you wear this evening?” asked her maid, Ina, who stood willowy tall at Elspeth’s trunk, her vibrant red hair hidden for the most part beneath a plain linen headscarf.
That was simple. She would wear the green dress if she were dressing for him.
“You choose,” Elspeth answered, with a melancholy sigh, plucking at the sleeve of her chemise. “It matters not to me.”
“The green, I think,” Ina answered, reaching inside. “It will be warm and soft on this cold night, and it flatters your figure very nicely.”
Elspeth suspected that to be true, from the admiring glances she received from the men of the castle when she wore it. The green gown was closely fitted, with delicate gold lacing in the front and back. Not that it mattered how she looked. She could be bald-headed and have a mouthful of rotten teeth, and it would make no difference at all. Soon she would be married to a man of her father’s choosing, a man with holdings and influence. Someone who would swear to be an ally for her father and the MacClaren clan during times of prosperity and conflict. Her very generous dowry would ensure the interest of such a man.
Her husband wouldn’t be a mercenary soldier, no matter how skilled or well-spoken he might be. Her stomach clenched with regret. Not that the béist was the man she wanted to marry, but wouldn’t it be nice to decide for herself? Wouldn’t it be nice to … fall in love?
Ina lay the gown on Elspeth’s bed, and loosened its laces.
“I can dress myself tonight, Ina,” said Elspeth. Ina was some ten years older than Elspeth, and happily married to a MacClaren stableman. “Spend your evening with Clach.”
“I’ll see him later,” Ina answered, and taking Elspeth by the hands, urged her to stand. “I’m happy to be able to spend this time with you. After all, how many more times will we have like this together, before you leave Inverhaven to start your life with a new husband?”
“That is true,” Elspeth answered softly. She raised her arms and Ina slipped the gown over her head.
Ina straightened the seams at her shoulders. “You seem very quiet tonight.”
“It is nothing.” Elspeth looked into her eyes. “Just that life is changing, and will change even more very soon.”
The maid touched Elspeth’s cheek, affectionately. “I have never heard you complain about your future.”
“And I do not complain now.” Elspeth shrugged. “It is my duty by birth to marry for my clan. I have been raised to it, and I understand the reasons why.”
Ina’s hands deftly tightened the laces at the front of the gown. “Are you … afraid?”
“Perhaps just a little. Only because I do not know what to expect.”
“Perhaps you will already be acquainted with the man you wed,” the maid said reassuringly.
“Perhaps he will be a stranger.”
“Maybe he will be young and handsome.” Ina grinned hopefully.
“Or old and smelly,” Elspeth countered facetiously.
The older woman’s features softened. “I hope he will be kind.
“What if he is … indifferent?” Elspeth raised her hands. “What if he has a mistress?”
Ina gasped. “What if he has three eyes?”
They both laughed.
“I think it is normal to feel the way you are feeling.” Ina moved to the back, and finished the laces there.
“I do look forward to having a husband, and children. A family of my own.” Elspeth nodded. A family, yes. She did want that. “I will do everything in my power to be happy and content.”
“Unlike Bridget,” Ina murmured.
Ah … yes, Bridget. Elspeth’s stomach twisted in anxiety. Tonight, she had no other choice but to seek out her father and tell him privately about what she had seen take place between Lady MacClaren and Duncan. It gave her no pleasure, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t just remain silent.
There’d been no opportunity to speak to the MacClaren alone this morning after they’d returned from the river. He’d been so relieved she and Cat were safe, and had listened carefully about how they had been saved by the mercenary, but all too quickly he had grown weary and had retired to his chambers. She hoped to find him alone for a few moments before the evening meal began, if he was well enough to attend.
“There,” said Ina, stepping back to admire her. “You look lovely, which is only fitting given the occasion.”
“What occasion is that?”
“Everyone belowstairs is talking about the man who saved you. He will be here tonight, will he not? You must take extra care to make him feel welcome.”
Just remembering the way he had looked this morning—intense, drenched, and powerful, with the river rushing behind him—made her pulse pound with excitement. Such anticipation, when in truth, they probably wouldn’t even be allowed to speak more than a few polite words. Conall had already warned her off speaking to him.
She sighed crossly. “I do believe it will be Father and Conall who entertain him. And Bridget.”
“But certainly you will at least greet him, in a hospitable way.”
Yes. She would at least be allowed that, before being sent to sit at the far end of the table, like a little child with her younger sisters.
She was glad Ina had chosen the green gown. No matter how fleeting her interaction with the mercenary, she wanted to look her best. Suddenly, it seemed very important that when she saw the man again tonight that she look very different than the wet and shivering, blue-lipped girl he had pulled from the river. She wanted to meet him as herself this time.
She wanted to meet him as a woman.
Ina retrieved a comb. “Now sit and I will fix your hair—”
“Oh, please! Let me!” declared another voice. It was Mairi, Elspeth’s twelve-year-old half-sister.
As the eldest, Elspeth had been given her own private chamber just off the bower, the larger room where her younger half-sisters passed much of their time and slept each night. Mairi often joined her before the evening meal to help her dress or to fix her hair.
“Yes, come, Mairi,” answered Elspeth. Looking at her maid, she raised her eyebrows teasingly. “Clach. We don’t need you here. Now, go.”
“If you insist.” Ina handed the comb to the girl, a happy flush rising to her cheeks.
The thought of spending time with her husband clearly gave her pleasure, which made Elspeth glad for her, but wistful for the same experience.
When Ina had gone, Mairi smiled and gasped. “That is my favorite gown of yours!” She urged Elspeth to sit on a stool. “It’s perfect against your skin and with your dark hair. It also makes your bosoms look divine. I hope I have bosoms like yours one day.”
“Mairi.” Elspeth laughed, though she was not at all shocked.
A thin rail of a child on the precipice of maturity, Mairi was fascinated by all things womanly and wasn’t shy about voicing her thoughts and curiosities.
She skimmed her hands over Elspeth’s unbound hair. “I think a circlet of braids, perhaps intertwined with some of that gold cording, and the rest left falling down your back? Do you agree?”
“Whatever you choose,” answered Elspeth, with an encouraging wave of her hand.
Another girl entered just then, her hair as fair as Mairi’s, dressed in a linen undertunic and woolen stockings, seventeen-year-old Derryth. “Elspeth, I need to borrow your red shoes. I can only find one of mine. I do believe Cat’s puppy ate it.”
Elspeth turned to her and said in a quiet voice, “Don’t talk about Puppy so loudly, where Cat can hear. She is still very sad and you complaining about him will only upset her more.”
Derryth breezed past her, her pale hair rippling behind her. “She’s not here, so she can’t hear what I say, now can she?”
“What do you mean, she’s not here?” asked Elspeth.
“She’s gone—belowstairs, I’m sure. I don’t know.” She bent over Elspeth’s trunk, and rummaged until she straightened again, holding two red leather shoes in her hands. “I can’t watch her all the time.”
Elspeth said, “You know she isn’t supposed to just go wandering about without someone to watch her. She gets into trouble.”
“You mean she gets into trouble with Bridget.” Mairi made a face.
It had been a very difficult afternoon. At some point when no one was watching, Cat had cut all of her hair off so she now looked even more like a boy, which had infuriated Bridget.
“Yes, she gets in trouble with Bridget,” Elspeth conceded. “Mairi, hurry, I need to find her. Just forget the gold cording, if you will.”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said Derryth in an I-know-something-you-don’t-know tone. “You should look your very best tonight.”
“Why do you say that?” Elspeth asked.
Derryth’s face lit up, as it always did when she had all the attention in the room. “Because the maid who brought the linen a moment ago told me the kitchen had received instructions from Bridget that tonight’s meal cannot be just a meal, but instead must be a feast. There are going to be special visitors.”
“The man who saved you and Cat today,” exclaimed Mairi.
“Not only the barbarian,” Derryth coyly replied.
Elspeth frowned. “He’s not a barbarian.”
“That’s not what I heard,” she teased, leaning forward, before backing toward the door.
“Who told you otherwise?” Elspeth demanded.
“All the maids are talking about him. He was seen in the village this afternoon. They said he’s terrifying, with tattoos and Devil-black hair all in braids that fall down his back. Yet for one so terrifying, they all seem very flustered and excited that he will be a guest here.” Derryth shrugged—then winked. “But he is only a soldier. What I must tell you is that the maids also said Father has invited a number of potential suitors to pass the night.”
“Suitors?” A trickle of alarm went down Elspeth’s spine. In a blink, it felt as if the four walls of her room closed in. Why hadn’t she been told?
Mairi excitedly squeezed her shoulder. “Perhaps your future husband is arriving even now.” Yet it seemed as if her voice came from the end of a dark tunnel.
“And one never knows—perhaps even mine,” declared Derryth excitedly, before disappearing again into the bower.
Elspeth shook off the feeling of unease. Of dread.
Suitors. She would have liked to have been informed. But she would accept her future bravely, and not hide in her room like a frightened child. She waited impatiently for Mairi to finish braiding and coiling her hair, with the gold cord and the threaded pearls that had once belonged to Elspeth’s mother, and when she was done together they went belowstairs.
Voices sounded, loud and boisterous. The lively sound of a lute and a harp carried throughout. The great hall of the castle was indeed more crowded than on most nights, and yet she did not enter or look too closely at the faces there to see who might have been invited by her father to offer for her hand. She would know the answer to that question soon enough.
She bent toward her sister. “See if you can find Cat, and take her to the table. I need to speak to Father alone for a moment.”
“About your suitors?” Mairi’s brow creased. “Oh, Elspeth, it’s exciting to think of you marrying, but I don’t want you to leave me. Not ever.” The young girl took both of her hands and squeezed them tight.
“It’s all very unsettling, isn’t it?” said Elspeth, squeezing back. “For me as well. But I’m going to speak to him about something else.”
“About what?” the girl asked, tilting her head upward.
“About something.” Elspeth widened her eyes at the girl, and grinned, playfully letting Mairi know the subject was none of her concern.
“Oh, very well!” Mairi rolled her eyes, and ventured off into the throng. “I’ll see to Cat.”
Elspeth turned her attention to finding her father. Usually the MacClaren remained in a private room near the great hall, speaking to his counselors until almost time for the evening meal, at which time he would make his entrance with Bridget, and greet his men and his guests before joining the rest of his family at the head table.
She prayed he was alone now. Turning the corner, she found that he was. For a moment she stood on the threshold, still and silent, looking at him sitting in his chair, his gaze fixed on the fire instead of the scroll of parchment in his lap. So far away, and withdrawn to a place in his mind, as he had seemed so often of late.
Kermac MacClaren had once been young and strong and full of vigor. Elspeth remembered those times, though distantly, and often heard their history repeated in the songs sung by their old bard, Murdoch. Perhaps it was her own sentimental memories of the past, but after her mother’s death his spirit seemed to have dimmed, and never fully revived as strong as before.
Affectionate and loving in one moment—and sharp and distant in the next—he wasn’t always the easiest man to love, but she loved him anyway and worried over his happiness and what the MacClarens would do when inevitably he was gone, as there were no clear successors to his chieftaincy. No son or brother or nephew, and Conall, the warrior he had relied on for so long as war captain and council member, was just as old as he.
With his recent bouts of illness, the MacClaren clan council had out of caution pressed Kermac to name a successor, and yet he had stonily resisted, finding fault with every candidate set before him. She knew all this because she attended every meeting of the council. She also knew that his refusal had sent a ripple of unease through his people—and if Elspeth’s intuition was right, discontent in the more ambitious men of the clan. Despite the smiles that continued to welcome her each day, and the outward displays of fealty everyone displayed toward her father and his family, she sensed that doubt, worry, and jealousy hovered like black shadows in every corner of the castle.
“Father,” she said, entering the long and narrow room. Two large sconces burned at either end, in addition to a well-tended fire. Above them, a vaulted ceiling cleaved upward, supported by sturdy timber beams. Of all the rooms in the castle, it was her favorite, because she found it the most impressive for the history and beauty it displayed. At the same time, the room offered privacy and comfort, and reminded her of their old home—a smaller and simpler place where life had been so happy—at least in the memories of a little girl. Sadly, her mother had died not long after coming here, to this much finer castle and the wide, sweeping lands that had been awarded to her father by the same king he now despised.
“Daughter.” With a huff of air from his lips, and visible effort, the MacClaren stood from his chair and reached for her, smiling out from a closely trimmed beard, his once brown hair now mostly taken over by gray. Tonight he wore a rich robe of dark blue, trimmed with fur, and a gold chain at his neck. Despite his age, he was still imposing and yes—handsome.
“You are feeling better?” she inquired.
“Yes, much,” he answered heartily, though she could not help but take note of the dark shadows that underscored his eyes and that the hollows of his cheeks appeared to have deepened, nor could his smile mask the tension that surrounded him like a dark storm cloud.
Embracing her, he pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m glad you have come. There is something I have put off speaking to you about that can wait no longer.” He gestured that she should take the armchair beside his, which she did, and they sat side by side.
“Might it have something to do with finding a husband for me?” she asked, her voice more strained than she would like.
His smile slanted sideways. “Aye, lass, so you have heard?”
“Word travels quickly through a castle.”
He nodded slowly. “I should have spoken to you before now.” His expression softened with tenderness. “It’s just that this old man doesn’t like the idea of his dearest daughter leaving him. You are so much like your mother. I have kept you here with me this long only out of selfishness, to comfort myself. Forgive me. I know you must want a husband and bairns of your own.”
“I’ll stay as long as you wish.” Elspeth squeezed his arm. “And yet if it is time for me to marry, I will not refuse.”
They were the words she knew she ought to say, and she meant them, though her heart was not without desires of its own. Unbidden, the memory of the mercenary came into her mind.
“That’s my daughter, fair and dutiful.” He reached and touched a tendril of her hair, the smile fading from his lips. “You know that for some time the Alwyn has been escalating discord between our clans, and making assertions that much of what now belongs to the MacClarens was intended for him—”
Her temper sparked, and her spine went rigid. “Aye, based upon some old map we have not had the benefit of seeing for ourselves.”
His eyes darkened. “I fear he will formally petition to have the property reapportioned—”
“No, Father,” she insisted reassuringly, reaching to squeeze his hand. “The map, if it exists, is most certainly falsely put forth. A forgery or some such, to support a nonexistent claim. Secondly, too much time has passed. To ask for a reapportionment now would be a complete folly on his part.”
The laird nodded. “It would be, yes—if he did not have such a powerful ally in Alexander Stewart.”
Her heart grew heavy at hearing the Earl of Buchan’s name, because it reminded her that her family and clan would not be allowed to simply live their lives. There would always be unwelcome interference from faraway Stirling or Scone or Edinburgh, in some form or fashion.
“Any alliance with Buchan is a pact with the devil,” he responded bitterly. “His alliances change like the wind blows.” He rubbed his creased forehead, as if soothing a sudden flare of agitation, and burst out with a rush of heated words, “Worse yet, I have learned that Buchan and the Alwyn have formalized an alliance, by way of a betrothal between the earl’s ward and the Alwyn’s son Hugh.”
Elspeth’s stomach clenched at the import of his words.
“That is indeed troubling,” she murmured. Buchan—the youngest of Robert the Second’s sons—held great sway over his father who had the power to dissolve clans or force them to renounce claim to their lands as punishment for rebellions or perceived slights.
Her father leaned forward in his seat. “And so, it seems the Alwyn has the devil on his side, and we find ourselves with very few guardian angels. We must do what we can to bolster our defenses, and our alliances, so that we can weather any challenges or attacks that may come upon our clan.”
He nodded, and grinned, albeit a bit sadly. “As for the matter before us, for some time now I have been approached by men offering all sorts of promises in hopes of having you for their own—”
Not just her, but her tocher. Her father had promised her a generous dowry that included the old MacClaren properties and stronghold, where her family and their clan had lived before relocating to Inverhaven, after the crown rewarded her father with its extensive lands for his support in the regional tumult that had once divided their corner of the Highlands. Those had been different times.
He sighed. “They are all unworthy of you, at least according to the overly critical eyes of a loving father, but the time has come that I must think more with my mind, which is strong, and not my heart, which has always been weak where you are concerned.” He looked at her a long moment. “However, I want it to be you who chooses from this … narrowed selection of suitors.” He raised his hands, holding them close together. “I want you to be happy.”
His words gave her some measure of solace. She would at least have some say. “May I ask whom you have invited?”
She was almost too afraid to hear the answer.
“Ah … that.” He lifted a finger. “Even I do not know. Your stepmother, the Lord bless her, has put herself in charge of selecting the most promising candidates from those set forth by the council, and I agreed because she is a woman, like you, and would do a much better job at matchmaking than I.”
At hearing this, a prickling sensation of alarm arose on the nape of her neck. Bridget?
“Like you, she is very astute in matters of diplomacy.” He nodded, and eased back into his chair, oblivious to her concern. “There are only so many men in these hielands worthy of my daughter’s hand, who would meet with the approval of the MacClaren council. I’m certain their names and faces will be familiar. Perhaps the Lady MacClaren will tell us when she arrives momentarily.”
A loud burst of laughter came from the direction of the great hall. Shadows flickered on the wall as several of the laird’s most trusted hearth warriors approached the door, as they did each night in preparation of escorting him and Bridget to dinner—which meant Bridget would be here any moment.
It was now or never, she realized, feeling anxious now, about speaking the words. “Father, there is also something I must speak to you about.”
“What is it, child?”
Though it felt as if a large stone weighted her soul, she forced the words out. “It gives me no pleasure to tell you of this, but it is my duty as your daughter.”
The laird’s brows furrowed in concern and he leaned toward her. “Go on.”
Elspeth swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “This morning, I witnessed something very troubling take place. Between the Lady MacClaren and her man, Duncan—”
The MacClaren nodded sharply, and held up a hand, as his face transformed into a scowl. “Yes. I know.” He nodded. “She, too, came to me with this.”
Elspeth’s breath caught in her throat. “She … did?”
“Aye, lass.” He shifted in his chair, as if uncomfortable. “She told me that this cur Duncan”—his lip curled—“had forced unwanted attentions on her this morning, and that she had fought him off.”
That wasn’t right. Elspeth had seen them. There had been no struggle. No imposition by Duncan. And yet she clenched her teeth tight and listened.
Her father closed his eyes, visibly seething. “She begged that I not kill him for the slight—as his family has long been respected in her clan, and that I instead remit him to her father for punishment. I … agreed, eventually. What is important is that he is gone, and he’s not ever coming back, so you don’t have to worry that he shall harm or dishonor your stepmother.”
A shadow fell over them. Elspeth looked up and found Bridget staring at her. “You’re discussing all the unpleasantness that occurred with Duncan.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I told your father you had witnessed his shocking transgression against my person, and that you would testify against him if necessary, but the laird did not wish to distress you further, loving father that he is.” She cast a sweet smile in the MacClaren’s direction. “Come, my love, our guests will be arriving soon.”
With a hand beneath his elbow, Elspeth helped her father stand and walked with him toward Bridget.
“I assume your father has informed you that your betrothed might very well be a guest here tonight?” she said, her pale hair shining in the candlelight.
“Indeed he has,” Elspeth answered woodenly. “Can you tell me who has come? Whom you have chosen for me?”
Bridget laughed, deep in her throat. “And spoil the surprise?”
“What a wicked woman you are, to tease my daughter so,” the laird chuckled in a lighthearted tone and escorted Bridget toward the door. She wrapped her arm into his, and glanced back over her shoulder at Elspeth, with a gaze that was both dark and punishing.
“It would seem that I am,” she said.
Elspeth followed, dreading the moments to come, but reminding herself that her father had told her she would have a choice. She could rely on his assurances. He had never given her reason not to. Taking heart in this, she followed them to the great hall and entered the room behind them. A cheer went up at the laird’s entrance, and the music of the minstrels spiraled into a triumphant and happy tune. Only she didn’t feel happy. She followed them down the center aisle toward the dais.
Just then, Cat bounded out from the crowd, laughing and carrying a wooden sword, only to come face-to-face with her father and Bridget. Barefoot and dressed in a tunic and short trews, her roughly shorn hair only made her look more unkempt and wild.
Bridget stepped toward the girl. “Oh, you misbehaving child. Come here now.”
The child backed away—bumping into a heavy wooden candelabra ablaze with lit candles.
The fixture teetered and toppled—but Conall lunged forward and caught it. Even so, several candles fell to the rushes, where others retrieved them, quickly stamping out the flames.
Cat disappeared into the crowd. Bridget turned to Elspeth, and closed her eyes, visibly seething. “Go get her, or I vow, I will.”
Behind her, the laird wore a haggard expression, one of regret. Elspeth experienced a flare of annoyance that he did not simply tell Bridget to let the child be. After all, Catrin had simply been playing—like countless other children who were present, and had caused no harm until Bridget confronted her so unkindly. Elspeth brushed past her stepmother, following Cat’s path as she wove in and out of their clanspeople. The child made her way toward the immense doors of the great hall, as if intent on escape.
“Cat, come here.” She moved faster, nearly catching up with her. Just then, the crowd parted and Cat halted and stepped back, bumping backward into Elspeth.
Because a man blocked her way, dressed in a floor-length cloak. A dark and imposing shadow in a room of faces, sound, and movement—
A gloved hand came up to push back the hood.
Startled, Elspeth gave a small gasp. She almost didn’t recognize him, but it was the stranger. The béist.
He looked different now. He had shaved his beard and cut his hair, leaving his face, with its strong cheekbones and angular jaw, bare to her gaze. Cool blue eyes looked into hers.
“How fortunate for me,” he murmured, with a tilt of his head. And yet somehow, in the din of the room, his voice was all she heard. “You’re just who I was looking for.”
Elspeth’s cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth to reply—
But his gaze dropped to Cat.
“I have something for you, little one.”
Cat peered up at him, uncharacteristically still and silent.
He crouched, and swept back one corner of his cloak—
To reveal Cat’s puppy, cradled in his other arm.