Chapter Two

Thinking to break her fast early, Blair meandered through the corridors of her youth, making her way absently toward the great hall, the news of Henry’s death beating at her with all its ramifications.

There was too much to do to be lying in bed wondering at the twist of fate that had once again left her helpless to the whims of men. Although there was still hope—her brother was open to listening, and he valued her opinions.

She’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to feel awful about Henry’s death, but all she’d been able to muster was relief, until thankfully, she’d been able to squash that unfortunate response down with guilt. What did that say about her? Surely, she should seek God’s forgiveness and counsel. No matter what the man had done to her, she owed him her sorrow.

Was it enough to be haunted by the man who had promised to care for her but treated her like a serving goblet, using her then tossing her back with the dregs of his meal until the next time he needed to quench his thirst? Did she owe the brute her grief as well as the adoration she had so naively given him?

She uncrumpled the still dry handkerchief she’d brought from her room. Guilt stabbed at her as she looked at the scene depicted on the cloth—King Charles’s coronation. How had she shed no tears?

Her opposite hand trailed across the cool stone walls as she turned her thoughts to the most pressing problem. Her father could now force her into something worse. Her only hope was that John might yet intervene and save her from having to turn her back on her clan for a husband she didn’t want.

After reaching the large empty hall, she strolled into the room, making her way to her usual spot at the table and plopping down, only to stare unfocused at the grain patterns on the wooden table. A plate landed smoothly in front of her.

She tilted up to see one of the younger serving boys. “There is a man waitin’ to see ye. Should I show him in?”

“Aye.” She straightened, thankful for the distraction, as the boy scooted out to retrieve the visitor.

The guest was most likely a merchant she’d been negotiating with over the quality of their candles. The ratio of tallow was too high, and she wanted him to increase the beeswax, which would eliminate some of the unpleasant odor on the candles.

The pompous cousin of her betrothed—well, former betrothed—slinked into the hall, and dread assailed her. Perhaps he’d come to deliver word of Henry’s demise, but the smirk on his face looked out of place. It was as if he was having trouble finding the right emotions to express over his loss, just like her.

If she’d known Bruce was the visitor, she’d have instructed the kitchen lad to send him away. Now, stared down by another of the Graham family, who incited a sickening anxiety in her belly, she wished she’d stayed abed, perhaps even feigned illness.

Standing, she forced a smile. “Hello, Bruce.”

“Blair.” The sound of her name on his lips gave her the impression she wouldn’t like his news, but she already knew the truth. He must be wracked with heartache. Anytime she’d seen Bruce in the past, he’d always been at Henry’s side. The man now looked lost without his kin, like he’d been so engrossed in despair that he’d not groomed himself in days.

“I’m so sorry ye’ve come all this way. I have already heard the news. I’m saddened for our loss.” Och, she wished she truly felt those words. She tried to remember something positive about Henry, but his looks were the only thing that came to mind.

Bruce took the seat next to her, settling in as if she’d welcomed him to dine with her. She eased down to her spot. The man was possibly beside himself with grief. She supposed he must be when he picked up her kerchief.

She was about to expand on her condolences, but he cut her off. “Ye will marry me.”

Shards of ice pierced into her chest. Another Graham man ordering her about.

No, she would not marry this arse.

“Nae. I havenae even had time to mourn Henry.” That would have to do. Och, she couldn’t let her father know another Graham was seeking her out.

“Precisely. Henry bedded ye, and now ye may be carrying one of our clan. ’Tis the right thing to do.”

Sinking farther into her seat, she struggled for a response. He must have taken her silence as proof.

“We shall wed in two days.”

“Nae.” She was certain all color had drained from her face as she ceased to breathe.

The man loomed over her like dark shadows of the phantom that had plagued her childhood nightmares.

“I amnae with child.”

“Can ye prove it?” he shot back as the flesh on his face tightened.

There was no way to prove such a thing, but she was certain, with the way her stomach had cramped this morning, her courses would be here any day.

“Nae, ye must go on my word. I wouldnae lie about something so serious.” Wringing her hands in her lap, she prayed he’d stand, turn, and leave, that she could rewind the clock and never agree to have anything to do with the Graham family, despite their loyalty to King Charles.

“Ye are a Macnab. Yer clan cannae be trusted.”

Her father’s reputation of playing both sides was well earned, but John and she were loyal to the king and couldn’t be swayed. Resenting the slight to her character and her clan, she turned her nose up at the toad whose gaze drifted down to her midsection.

“’Tis the truth. Time will tell.” She wouldn’t grow large and round with the passage of time, but that wouldn’t stop Bruce from spreading gossip and ruining her possibilities.

“Ye have two days to decide.”

Blair wanted to scream. The desire to lash out consumed her as she stared down at her untouched plate of mutton and bread instead of meeting the cold eyes of her dead betrothed’s cousin, a man apparently as ruthless as Henry.

She shook her head with a certainty she didn’t feel, as if she were the one who could make the call. “I need time to grieve.”

“What better way than to be welcomed into Henry’s clan.”

“Nae.” She clenched her fists under the table and met his stare straight on.

“If ye dinnae marry me in two days’ time, I will tell Henry’s family.” Bruce’s lips twisted up on one side like the treacherous bend at the nearby river where she’d seen many children slip in. Something in her stomach lurched.

“Ye ken ye will be forced to wed Norval, and he isnae as kind and generous as yer former lover.”

She cringed as her father’s suggestion from last night loomed. He had mentioned she should wed Henry’s brother.

She’d seen Norval accost a kitchen lass and force her into a closet once. Henry had even spoken of his aversion to his brother’s temperament in public. She couldn’t imagine what the man was capable of when no one was looking.

“And what do ye gain from marrying me?” Fisting her hands, she forced her gaze to his. His catlike grin turned to that of a lad about to get his hands on the coveted prize at a caber toss.

“The right to claim yer clan’s allegiance for the Royalist cause and gain the favor of the Marquess of Montrose.”

“Ye are mistaken if ye think my father has chosen a side. My marriage willnae sway him.”

“I will still gain my cousin’s favor and get to bed ye every night. I cannae lose.” He shrugged.

She wanted to shiver but steeled herself to deny him satisfaction and pinned him with a disgusted stare.

Eyes turning cold, his voice thickened. “Or ye can take yer chances with Norval.” This time, she couldn’t hide the shudder that rolled over her. “’Tis what I thought.”

If Bruce told Henry’s family they had been together, the lot of them would appear before her father and demand the arrangement, especially if they believed she carried the eldest and favorite son’s child in her belly. Her father would turn her over without another word, probably happy to be rid of her.

She could tell John, but what could he do? He might attack Bruce, but that would put him in jeopardy and possibly harm the Macnab clan’s relationship with Montrose, the leader of the Royalist forces. A wave of dizziness unsteadied her.

“I’m staying at the Duck’s Head Tavern. If ye dinnae come to me by tomorrow night, I’ll be on my way to the bonnet laird. I’m sure the man would love to ken his precious son’s seed was spilled inside such a bonny and well-connected lass.”

Gaze returning to her full plate, nausea swept over her as the implications rushed through her. If she told her father, he’d push her into Norval’s arms or even worse, force her to wed a Campbell.

The air shifted beside her. When she glanced back up, she glimpsed Bruce’s back as he skirted out through the kitchen doors along with removing any opportunity to plead for some other outcome.

Deep male voices startled her. Bruce must have heard the men coming. Looking up, she was met by warm hazel eyes.

Finlay Cameron had been the man who had protected and been kind to Kirstie and her. His gaze made her want to believe there were good men in the world, but the only one to see any value in her was John.

While jumping to her feet to greet them, her stomach churned with despair, and her hand flew to her mouth. Hoping to find a quiet place to contemplate her options, she ran from the room without even saying good morn.

…

Finlay’s gaze followed Blair from the room—he’d never seen the vibrant lass so pale. She’d always overlooked him, but to ignore him in her own home was a new insult to his pride. Perhaps the grief had overcome her manners. Shaking it off, he continued to follow John into the hall, happy to be filling his belly. He needed to be on his way, but now he had John’s proposal to consider. The one that had him tossing and turning during the night. Should he wed Blair? And, would she want him?

Coming north to share the sad news with Blair’s family before vicious rumors reached her might have been a mistake. What’s worse was the rumors were true—Blair’s betrothed had pushed another man into the thick of battle to save his own skin. He’d wanted her to think Henry had died an honorable death and spare her the details. He’d given her most of the truth of the battle. He hoped no one who had seen the incident would feel the need to come forward.

She had a right to believe the best about the man she’d given herself to, even though the man had been a despicable craven. He’d only left out the specifics of Henry’s cowardice. It had been to protect her. He had to acknowledge the truth. From the moment he’d met Blair Macnab and the calm confidence she possessed, he’d been in awe of her.

Instead of being here, he should have rushed to England to tell his brothers and father the Puritan propagandist papers were for once telling the truth instead of the lies and over-exaggerations they were prone to print.

Prince Rupert, the leader of the Royalist forces in England, was skilled, but his tactics were not always civilized, and the English Parliament had seized onto the crimes he had committed. They had perpetuated a false narrative, leading the public to believe King Charles approved of his nephew’s atrocities, further enraging the Protestants determined to oust him based on his love for his Catholic queen. Finlay knew better. King Charles didn’t care for his nephew’s ways and would probably send Prince Rupert away if he weren’t so desperate for help.

If the English Parliament succeeded in this scheme, it could lead to the downfall of the king, and at the hand of the Scots, no less.

After John and he took a seat at a long bench on the raised platform toward the interior of the large hall, he studied the tapestries of the Macnab symbols and ancestors that overlooked the spot and indicated the place of honor. It was similar to the hall at Kentillie, but something about the scene left him cold like his estate in England, instead of feeling fulfilled like he did when he was on Cameron lands.

Movement caught his eye as a servant appeared in the empty room. While the Macnab heir gave some instructions to the lad, he remembered the conversation he’d overheard outside his door this morning.

A gaggle of maids had been discussing a lass who had missed her cycle and appeared to be with child. The group seemed quite scandalized. Could they have been talking about Blair?

John broke into his thoughts as the lad scurried off. “Have ye considered my offer? My father may wed Blair to a Campbell if I dinnae present him with a better option.”

“Would he risk the wrath of Montrose over such a thing?” His chest tightened. Blair’s union with a clan loyal to the Covenanters would cement the Macnabs’ loyalty firmly on the side pushing Parliamentary rule onto the people of Scotland.

For his king and country, it was important she marry into a clan with Royalist ties.

“I dinnae ken. ’Tis why ye must take Blair as yer wife.” John’s stare met him straight on.

“Ye are no’ yet the laird and cannae make that decision.” Placing his elbows on the table, he clasped his hands and leaned into them, analyzing what a union between them would mean. John pinned him with staunch blue eyes that conveyed the veracity of his intent.

“I’ll convince him.” The man pinched his lips together, then gave him a bright smile that reminded him of the first time he’d seen Blair smile. It had been when she’d convinced the servants at the Macnab keep they could entertain several of the Cameron clan, after his kin had shown up unannounced just before the late day meal. And she’d been able to pull it off as if the extravagant meal had taken weeks to plan. It had been the first time she’d caught his attention, and he’d been amazed at her efforts and the results.

“Ye are certain ye can?”

If her brother had the same uncanny ability to make things happen and win people over that Blair possessed, Finlay would soon be wed to one of the most beautiful lasses in all of Scotland. It would ensure the Macnab clan stayed faithful to the king.

“Aye. He plans to sign the Solemn League and Covenant. He will want to shore up alliances with Royalists as well, and what better match than to a family favored by the king.” He caught on that John was referring to his English relatives and not the Cameron clan. Not many people knew of his connection to the king, and he’d not been one to parade about the Highlands acknowledging the family that only grudgingly accepted him.

“Ye canne let him sign the proclamation.” Every muscle in his body tightened.

“I cannae control what he does as long as he is laird. Blair and I have both tried to talk him out of it. Now ye see how important it is that she be wed to someone faithful to our clan’s beliefs.”

“I dinnae have my laird’s permission.”

“Ye can take her to Kentillie and get his blessing.”

But he wasn’t planning on going to the Cameron keep. He was bound for England to give his family and King Charles an update on the loyalties in Scotland. By coming here, he’d already added time to the journey, a delay he couldn’t afford.

“That doesnae change the fact she doesnae desire to be wed to me.” Reality set back in. He’d been visiting for years with the Camerons, and she’d not once looked at him with a hint of interest.

“’Tis nae true. She is just upset about the loss of Henry. She will grow to care for ye.” John’s eyes twinkled as if he’d solved the mysteries of life.

“Even so, I wish to have a wife who wants me.” His past wouldn’t let him commit to a wife who would not be a partner.

“Trust me. She wouldnae be averse to ye as a husband.”

Hope blossomed in his chest. Could he have what he’d always dreamed of? A family that stayed together no matter where they lived, and a woman who could navigate her way through the tedious tasks of life on an English estate?

A lad from the kitchen peeked into the room, glanced around, and asked John, “Where’s Mistress Blair?”

Pointing, the Macnab heir absently said, “That way.” The lad nodded and ran after her.

A lass bounded out of the kitchen balancing two plates in her hands and smiled, then strolled over and set the trenchers down in front of Blair’s brother and him. His stomach growled at the sight of cold mutton, bread, and cheese. The lass turned and made her way back to the kitchen, but his gaze landed on the plate left unattended next to him. It must have been Blair’s. Her pallor had been slightly green when she’d run from the room, and now that he thought about it, she’d been holding her mouth. She might truly be with child.

If Blair married right away, no one would ever know her secret, but if she started to show, she might end up forced to support herself and the babe on her own. Shoulders drooping, he remembered his mother and the blisters and calluses on her hands from struggling to make his home in Scotland a happy one.

He couldn’t let that happen to Blair.

“When will yer father make the arrangements?”

If The Macnab followed his typical pattern of positioning his clan on a fulcrum between the Royalists and Covenanters, it would be too long. Maybe John could push him into a quick decision. After picking up a piece of cheese, he tossed it into his mouth.

No wonder she ate it all—the milky, creamy texture was smooth with just a hint of smoke and sharpness.

“If ’tis no’ ye, I’m sure ’twill take months to come to an agreement. He never does anything without deliberating every outcome and manipulating the situation until he has whatever he wants.”

Dread snaked into Finlay’s spine. Swallowing the cheese, his thoughts raced as he tried to figure out a way to save the lass from the life his mother had lived without forcing her into an unwanted marriage. But Blair didn’t have the luxury of time.

He told himself not to worry. It would be different with her—she would find a husband, and no one would hold the babe against her. She was the daughter of a laird of a powerful clan, and she and the babe would be cared for, but the thoughts had a false ring in them. He knew her options would be limited if her state were discovered before arrangements had been made.

The lad stumbled back into the room, Blair breezing in behind him, shoulders back, head held high, like a goddess ready for battle. All signs of illness erased from her face. They were replaced by the smooth glowing skin and poise of the lass he’d seen all those years ago, the one who knew her way around the castle and could inspire confidence and delegate tasks to accomplish the greatest of feats.

Blue eyes the color of a cloudless summer day turned to him, and she smiled. Then nodded in some secret way as if apologizing for her behavior of only moments ago. The gesture enveloped him like a caress, despite the distance between them.

She strode on through the room to be met by a nervous-looking Highlander in the doorway. The slender young man presented her with a box, and a surge of jealousy jolted through him at the smile she granted the interloper, but there was something different to it. Her lips were curved up, but they were stern and set. A resilience and strength of purpose radiated from her, indicating the lad was no lover bringing her gifts to entice her heart.

Shoulders relaxing, he cursed, letting it bother him that she might be interested in another.

“Will this be better than the last batch?” Blair’s words carried through the hall. All the authority of the lady of the keep were infused in them, dripping with confidence and poise.

“Aye, ’twill, me lady.” Voice low, the man’s head remained dipped, gaze just peeking at her through his lashes, showing her the reverence she deserved.

“Ye are certain these willnae have the same odor.”

Raising the lid, he swung it up, but it caught on hinges mid-flight. “Aye.” His face lit with a tentative smile.

“If this batch isnae better, dinnae bother coming back. I’ve reached out to another candle maker. I dinnae mind the tallow ones for outside, but they willnae do in the keep.”

“Yes, me lady. I promise ’tis the quality ye seek and at a fair price.”

Her delicate hand reached inside and pulled out a long bleached white candle. Raising it to her nose, she inhaled as the candle maker rubbed his nape.

She commanded respect from all those she dealt with. Finlay found himself intrigued, wondering where her skills had come from and why he’d always seen her taking care of these tasks and not her mother. Despite her small stature and gentle lilting voice, she was a fierce negotiator and ran this castle like she was the one in charge. And better still, she understood numbers, a skill that to this day eluded him, because they pranced around in his head causing it to ache.

He needed a wife who could run a large estate, and those were hard to find in Scotland. The English lasses wouldn’t speak to him, not that he would consider a priggish Sassenach for a wife. Blair might not care for him, but she was what he needed. Still, she’d never really looked at him.

John cleared his throat, and his eyebrows were raised as if to say, I know what ye are thinking.

“All right,” Finlay blurted as the beat of his heart increased, certain it was the prudent decision for his clan, country, and king. She was a Royalist, and it would be a good match for the Camerons and King Charles if their union could keep the Macnabs from joining the Covenanters. “But only if she says yes, and only after yer father and my laird have approved of the match.”

“I’ll get his approval.” John’s grin turned triumphant, the man’s gaze turning back to Blair. “Ye will both be happy.”

He still wasn’t sure. “I have two conditions. Ye will join us on our way to Kentillie as a chaperone.”

“I can do that. What else?” John relaxed, leaning back and popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

“We have to leave today.”