Fletcher knew he had made a mistake. Standing with his arm around ‘Ruthie Gordon, he studied Elizabeth Talbot Mackinnon and deeply regretted putting her through this misery today.
Her straw bonnet was filled with ribbons, her prim pink dress billowing around her, her hands clasping wilted weeds. She sat alone, but with her head high. She was incredible.
Fletcher had seen her glance his way, then quickly lift her chin and survey the fair as if she were queen. He knew what she was thinking, that she was embarrassed and upset. But she wore a hint of a smile, so brave, so sweet, so impossible to resist. He knew so little about the lass, her background and her likes and dislikes. But he knew her heart had reached out to him the night they sat blanketed in his hut. He knew she had courage and a caring nature. She was impulsive and high spirited and stubborn. And he knew he was falling in love with her. Love. What did he know about that romantic fantasy? All he knew was that Elizabeth had captivated him and found her way into his heart.
His mistake was insisting that she come here today. She must hate him for putting her in this awkward position. On the other hand, he had managed to keep her in his life one more day. And he was so damn proud of her. Never had he dreamed the people would accept her so readily, give her affection and respect, not mind that she was English and married to the half-breed heir to the Mackinnon title. He had thought she would have a pleasant outing, see a true Scottish celebration, then slip away home to resume her pleasant life in England. Instead, she had won a place for herself among the people. He couldn’t lose her, not now, not when he wanted her in every way possible. He longed to hold her close, caress her and see her smile lighten her eyes. He wanted to observe her anger against injustice, even if her temper was aimed at him. And he wanted her lovely body in his arms, naked and abandoned to his possession of her. He was certain that beneath her English silks and ribbons, there dwelled a warm and passionate woman.
Had he been a great chieftain of the Lakotas, he would have fought to win Elizabeth’s hand. As the future chieftain of Mackinnon, he might still have a chance to win her. Today Red had called him his son and future laird. Future. That was all he had to offer Elizabeth. An uncertain future. Could he stall for time? Could he persuade her to linger on Skye for a few more days, a week, a month? He had promised to go through with the annulment on the morrow. He must keep his promise. And then she would be gone, with only her tiny pistol for protection. He would have no choice but to let her go. The thought sent pain spreading through his core.
“Fletcher?” Ruthie was giving him a quizzical stare. “I think your mind is on your bride.”
“Aye, Ruthie. Come. I would like you to meet her.”
* * * *
Beth was surprised when Fletcher pointed in her direction, then guided the young woman over to the dais.
“I’d like you to meet my friend, Ruthie Gordon,” he said pleasantly. “Tomorrow is her wedding day, and I thought she might join you here to watch the proceedings.”
“Why, I’d be delighted,” Beth responded, truly pleased at the suggestion—and privately relieved to learn the girl’s status. Not that it really mattered if Fletcher had a sweetheart, she hastily reminded herself. By this time tomorrow, he would be a free man. She greeted Ruthie with a warm smile as the girl took a chair at her side.
“I’ll leave you ladies to chat,” said Fletcher. “I’m in need of some refreshment.” He strode away to join the boisterous crowd.
Beth could see that her new acquaintance was as painfully shy as she was pretty. “I’m so glad to have you sit with me,” she said brightly. “Everything is so new, so fascinating.” Ruthie gazed at her with pale blue eyes beneath half lowered lashes. “I’m mighty honored to sit here,” she murmured. “All the folks in Kylerhae are beholden to ye. The mayor has your jewelry and will find a buyer. ’Tis the talk of the village.”
“I asked Mrs. MacDuff to keep my identity a secret.”
“No secrets in Kylerhae,” Ruthie said, echoing Fletcher’s observation. “We do thank ye.”
“You’re welcome. I wanted to help, and the jewels meant nothing to me.”
“We are much obliged anyway, Mrs. Mackinnon.”
The sound of her married title jolted Beth once again. She felt like a character in a play, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. “Please call me ‘Beth,’” she suggested. “Where is your fiancé?”
“He’s competing in the caber toss.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with that competition,” Beth noted, proud of her new knowledge. “I’ve seen Fletcher practicing.”
“Oh? But I thought Fletcher wasna entering this year. Kenneth—he’s my fiancé—thinks he will have a chance to win since Fletcher isna competing.”
“Fletcher isn’t in the contest?”
“He didna tell ye?”
Beth hesitated. She must try to remember that everyone thought Fletcher had been her husband for more than a week—and naturally would share confidences. “I’m afraid I’m just recovering from a cold, I’ve been confined to my bed almost continually since my—my wedding.”
“I’m sorry the ceremony was so private. My Kenny and I would like to have stood up for ye and Fletcher in the kirk.” Beth clamped her jaw, annoyed again that Fletcher was forcing her into this awkward deception.
Ruthie continued, “We didna expect Fletcher to marry so soon after he came home from Edinburgh.”
“The marriage was rather sudden.”
“But ’tis easy to see why he would fall in love with such a fair lass as ye.’”
“Thank you,” Beth said, avoiding Ruthie’s eyes. “I met Fletcher in America years ago. The marriage was arranged by his father and my uncle, who is my guardian.”
Ruthie’s eyebrows lifted. “Arranged? I ne’er thought I’d see the day when Fletcher fell in with the laird’s arrangements.”
“He is something of a free spirit. Does he often fight with his father?” she ventured.
“Nay. I donna think they fight. But the laird has ne’er given Fletcher much attention or treated him like a son. Fletcher doesna mix well with the clan members. Mostly works hard during the summers, then returns to school. He and my Kenneth are friends, though.”
“Fletcher explained that his father didn’t make him entirely welcome at the castle.”
“Poor lad. I do think he liked having his own place, though. Most folks think he’s peculiar because of his upbringing. But the three of us have spent time together, and ’tis my opinion he carries a deep pain inside.” Suddenly she smiled. “But today he is different. I’m sure ’tis because of you.” She blushed. “But I say too much.”
Beth put her bouquet on the floor and covered Ruthie’s hands. “No, I’m sure you know him far better than I. I hope you and your Kenneth will continue to be his friends.” What else could she say to this nice lady? That Fletcher’s marriage was only a convenient arrangement and would end tomorrow? That was unthinkable.
Ruthie said, “From the way he watches ye, my guess is ye will make him happy always. Fletcher is a fine mon. Some of the islanders, especially the Mackinnon males, have resented him since he came here. He was very different from us, ye see. He wasn’t exactly welcome in many circles.”
“But Ruthie, the people must have known what a difficult change it was for him. Coming from America, where his culture was totally different. I was there the day Red Mackinnon rescued him from burning to death. Red gave him no choice but to come here. I find it impressive that Fletcher has done so well in Scotland. He has certainly excelled at school. He speaks beautifully, and has knowledge of the world.”
“I agree,” Ruthie said. “I blame much of his trouble on jealousy.”
“Jealousy?”
“The young men were pea green with envy from the first. Ye see, Fletcher excelled at everything—all the contests. He thought if he won archery, and the caber toss, and the horse race, he would become a hero to the people and win them over. The girls were mad for him. Every single lass fell head over heels for him within weeks of his arrival. Ye can imagine how the lads felt about that.”
“Yes, I can,” said Beth softly. “But how did Fletcher respond?”
“He ne’er encouraged any of the girls. Ignored them and went his way. Curled up inside himself when the young men refused to accept him as one of them. I think ’twas his nature to be alone anyway. I had him to my house often for a meal and to share a mug with Kenny and me, but he was always quiet—uncomfortable, I think. Once when I tried to talk to him about his loneliness, he laughed and said he was not e’en a wee bit lonely, but happy as a clam. Said the cattle and goats made better friends than humans, and he was content in his cottage overlooking the sea.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth about being content?”
“I think he was fooling himself.” Ruthie leaned close. “Like I said, he is a happy mon now that he has you. He’ll be a fine husband for ye, I’m certain.”
Beth squirmed in her chair.
“Oh look, there’s Kenny!” cried Ruthie.
Beth was relieved the conversation was interrupted. “Where?”
“I do believe he won the caber toss.”
“You must go see for yourself. I have enjoyed our visit.” Ruthie stood. “Ye’re sure ye don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Your fiancé will surely expect congratulations from his lady love.”
Ruthie smiled gratefully. “He will indeed. But ye and Fletcher will be at my house tonight for the party—for the feasting and the feathering.”
Caught off guard by the comment, Beth nodded. “I—well, yes, if that’s Fletcher’s wish. What is feathering?”
“A tradition on Skye. Ye’ll see,” she said, grinning. “Tomorrow morning, Fletcher will stand up for Kenneth at the kirk. Kenny is right proud to have the chieftain’s son do the honors.”
“Yes, of course,” Beth murmured, worried now about how she could continue her pretense at the party.
“Good day,” Ruthie called, and she hurried toward the playing field.
Beth watched her go with mixed emotions. She saw Fletcher through the eyes of Ruthie Gordon. Fletcher was a man who had a tortured soul, a warring identity with slim hope of resolution. Could she truly be the one to make him happy? Did he need her? Did the people of Skye need her? She knew she could be helpful in England, but her work there had an impersonal quality, unlike the need of one special human being, or the individuals she had met in Kylerhae. She was tossing this around in her mind when a commotion on the field interrupted her thoughts.
Drumbeats sounded, and the throng moved back to form an immense ring, leaving the center of the field open and empty.
Beth spotted her uncle and Red, laughing and showing signs of serious inebriation.
Uncle Percy mounted the dais and crossed to her, his grin turning into a threatening scowl. “Stand up,” he said harshly. “Your groom is taking the field.”
Fixing him with a daggered look, she got to her feet and walked to the front of the platform.
“Watch this, lass,” said a leering Red. “Fletcher’s been required to do this demonstration every year. Ye’ll not see the like anywhere else, I can promise.”
Beth turned her attention to the broad green field. An archery target had been set up at one end. She saw Fletcher ride alone at an easy canter into the middle of the grassy area and salute the onlookers. He rode as one with the magical Spirit Dog. He had no stirrups or saddle, and he held his arms extended at his sides. Miraculously he guided the horse with the pressure of his thighs and light taps with his cloth boots. Twice he circled the enclosure, then took his mount to the center and completed the display with two figure eights and a final pivot in place.
After watching silently, the crowd broke into applause and shouts of approval.
Spirit Dog side stepped nervously, his snowy mane and tail thrashing, his head bobbing on his thick, powerful neck.
Without retrieving the rope reins, Fletcher urged the horse to the near end of the field and removed a bow and arrow from a pouch, then put Spirit Dog into a gallop, heading in the opposite direction from the dais.
Beth caught her breath as Fletcher abruptly hooked his elbow into a sling that circled the animal’s neck and dropped to one side of the galloping horse. With his hands free, he rode perpendicular to the target and leaned underneath the horse’s neck. He released the arrow and it sailed swiftly into the red bull’s eye of the target.
Beth yelled and clapped along with the rest of the excited throng.
Back atop Spirit Dog, Fletcher rode at a fast clip directly toward the dais. Grabbing the reins, he halted the sweating horse directly in front of her, raising clods of earth as his mount spun once in a tight circle.
He lifted his hand to Beth in salute, then reached up to yank the plaid ribbon from his brow. Riding near, he captured her eyes and forced her to look directly at him. Dazzled by the magnificence of her warrior husband, her heart throbbing to the tattoo of the drums, Beth accepted the ribbon from his fingers. For a brief instant he held her hand, while the Mackinnon token fluttered in both their grasps; then he released her and rode close to the platform.
Transfixed by his male beauty, the intensity of his look, the challenge in his eyes, she faced him in silence. She wanted to offer congratulations on his performance, but she couldn’t think what words would be appropriate.
“Come,” he whispered for her ears alone. “Come, Wicinca.”
Wicinca. Pretty Little Girl. She remembered the name he had given her in America. “Come? Where?” she managed to ask.
“With your husband.” He reached out and encircled her waist. She gasped in surprise as he easily drew her across his lap and kicked Spirit Dog away from the dais.
Grabbing at his shoulders, her fingers clutching the fabric of his flowing shirt, she hung on. But she had no need for concern. She was secure in his arms, comfortable in his embrace, rocking with the smooth canter of the milk white horse. Should she resist him? Where were they going? Oddly, she had no fear. The questions sailing through her mind were lost in the thrill of his nearness, his strength, the clamor of her heartbeat, and the feel of the wind in her face.
He galloped from the field and urged the horse up an incline and along a low wall at the top of the hill. The cheers of the crowd faded and the only sounds were the dull thud of the unshod hooves in the soft earth.
Clinging to Fletcher, Beth heard and felt his heartbeat beneath her ear. Her bonnet hung by its ribbons behind her neck, and the pins were gradually escaping from her hair. She didn’t care. It was glorious riding with him like this, leaving worries behind and escaping to the center of the earth, to the bright blue of Heaven, to the pure physical joy of being one with this astonishing man.
The three moved with the wind, passing across moors and through an ancient primeval forest. After the climb, the ground leveled and the horse moved swiftly past boulders and jumped river lets cutting through the rocky terrain.
At last Spirit Dog slowed to a trot, then a walk. He snorted and tossed his head, then walked toward a meandering brook and lowered his nose to drink.
Beth took a deep breath and dared look up at Fletcher. He wasn’t smiling. Never had she seen him more serious.
“Allow me, milady,” Fletcher said in a low voice. He dropped from the horse and reached up to help Beth dismount. Light as a feather in his grasp, she slid downward until she stood before him, her gloved hands holding his upper arms.
He had had a plan when he pulled her into his arms and onto Spirit Dog. He was determined to make the most of his one day as her husband. She was a mystery to him, a pale goddess from a fallen star. His past was a tragic mixture of turmoil and uncertainty. His future appeared more of the same. But for this one spring day, he was a man in the fullness of life, and he possessed a woman as lovely as the rising moon. She would be gone tomorrow unless he could find some way to make her stay, discover her inner thoughts, explore her deepest desires. He sensed she wanted him as a woman wants a man. He felt it strong between them. It was like a fierce whirlwind binding them closer and closer until there was no escaping their fate. He wanted her more than he needed his next breath. He had this single day in the midst of all eternity, one chance to know if this was the woman whom Fate had intended for him. Today she was his wife. Tomorrow she could be gone forever. How many chances for love could a man have? And there was only one Elizabeth. The time was now. He must have the answer.