Thrice a Bride

Chapter 1

He should never have begun this venture. It could end in doom for both of them. A rhythmic tap on his cabinet door raked Fergus’ already raw nerves. Aye. He punctuated the admittance with a groan.

His guard, Matthew, bowed and offered a slim smile. She’s arrived, m’laird.

Fergus pushed to his feet and straightened as much as his aged frame would allow. This endeavor was ill advised, but he’d taken pity on the lass. His man’s smile grew as Fergus ambled to the door. His decision had made his kirth and kin happy, but still …

Nathair joined him in the passageway to the hall. So, the little strumpet is at our gates. His son elbowed him. Do ye still feel fruitful at yer age, Da? Lookin’ for another heir to replace me?

Ye’ll hold yer tongue, lad. I’ll not have ye besmirching her fine character. The lass was in need, and I chose to aid her. Ye’ll treat her with the respect due a lady of the manse.

They strolled into the hall side-by-side, but his son could not be more different from him. Wild, irreverent, sloven. Fergus sighed. Nothing he did produced any change in the lad. Nathair plopped onto the bench at the high table with an eager gaze on the door. A shiver danced over Fergus’ skin and ended in a shudder. This venture was sore ill advised. Perchance bringing her here would do more harm. No, nothing could be more harmful than what her father intended for her.

The citizens of Seycoll gathered to glimpse their new lady. The eager mutters and amiable smiles betrayed their disfavor of Nathair ruling over them as their next laird. Yet again, Fergus regretted the deal he’d struck with the lass’ father. But he had little time to bemoan his poor choices as Crom stomped into his hall and dragged the young lass beside him.

The lean man wore a perpetual scowl, drawing his face of wrinkles in long, harsh lines. He’d cropped his dark beard short, but flecks of food bits litter it. His plaid lay dirty and disheveled over his shoulders and flesh peeked through his trews.

The lass wore what looked to be new garments. A simple green overdress and cream chemise. The rich green set off her stunning, flame-red curly locks, which cascaded about her long oval face and over her shoulders. Her father didn’t even allow her the kindness of brushing her hair before dumping her in the hall before a man of Fergus’ standing.

Have ye the papers to sign, Fergus? The man released his unwanted charge.

Nathair snorted. Is this the way all those outside our land greet the Fullarton laird?

Crom, at least, had the common sense to look chastised and lowered into a quick bow. The lass curtsied slow and deep beside him.

Freed of her father’s grasp, she rose, brushed hair from her face, and tried to contain its wild spirited strands behind her. Her long nose sat between pale cheeks sprinkled with freckles, as though the pixies had danced there and left prints. She looked touched by the mystical. Her gaze remained to the floor so Fergus couldn’t see her eyes, but she clasped her hands gently before her. She didn’t seem to tremble as she stood unmoving beside her sire.

I thought we’d dine afore—

Crom scowled, rolled his shoulders, and shifted his weight. Pardon, m’laird, but I’ve business of import to be seein’ to afore day’s end. If we could be about the matter at hand, I’ll leave ye to yer merry-makin’.

Fergus frowned, matching Crom’s scowl with one of his own. Crom was a cruel man, well Fergus knew from dealing with him when Fergus had visited Ansmarkt. But the man made a point. They’d have a much more enjoyable afternoon after he left.

Fergus waved him to follow. Come, all awaits in the cabinet. Matthew opened the door to his private study as the two men approached. Fergus had furnished his cabinet well with books and works of art. It sat adjacent to the hall. The contract concerning the lass lay on top of the small desk. The bag of coin remained hidden in a drawer.

Crom scanned it over. Seems in order, but have ye the coin?

Fergus shot a glance to his steward, Owen, who’d followed them inside. As Fergus suspected, Crom couldn’t read. At least this one minor fact in this venture might work out for the best.

Selling a woman was distasteful, but Fergus had noted the men who had taken an interest in bargaining for Crom’s lass. Fergus had feared for her safety and purity. He’d agreed to a larger sum than seemed fitting for a craftsman’s daughter with a dubious claim to be from the lesser nobility. Still, Fergus had felt the need to protect her, but he’d put his own stipulations on Crom to produce her claim of noble lineage. Crom, for his part, insisted on a marriage between the young lass and the elder laird.

Ye have what the laird requested? Owen said with a nod to Fergus.

Crom pulled a folded parchment from his waist and offered it to whichever of them would take it.

Owen made a quick check of it. There is the matter of her name, as well. I will need it to complete the contract before ye sign.

Davina. The word near vomited out of Crom. Of the Clan Moffat.

Owen added the name. Crom wouldn’t take the quill to make his mark until he had the coins in hand. He shook the bag, opened it and pulled a handful out. Checking those left inside, he counted what remained in his hand as they dropped back in.

Ye calling me a liar, Crom? Fergus closed the distance between them. I have standing with the traders in Ansmarkt to see none do business with ye again. And I may be old, man, but I can still knock ye on yer arse.

The coins clattered into the bag and he hid it away in the folds of his filthy plaid with the speed of a lightning strike. The quill scratched across the parchment.

Fergus added his signature to Crom’s crude mark and the distasteful man bolted toward the door without being given leave. He stopped at the door just long enough to incline his head. Good luck to ye.

Fergus followed the fleeing man. Crom passed Davina, who hadn’t moved since they’d left. He slowed a fraction as he stormed past her toward the door. I wash me hands of ye, girl. Ye kill this one too, and I’ll not allow ye back.

Chapter 2

Her da’s parting words hadn’t been loud. Hopefully, none other than the laird had heard his hateful claim. It didn’t matter. Crom was done with her. It was a good thing that Davina would never see him again.

The laird, her husband, stood beside her. She’d only glimpsed him before Crom had demanded to be free of her. She sighed. The man was once vigorous. It showed in the way he carried himself and the way the trews and tunic hung a little loose on him now. His shoulders slumped with age. His hair and beard were white and cut short.

Lady Davina, do ye need some time to rest, or shall we dine first?

By the saints, the man asked her what she wanted. She struggled to stifle the start racing through her body. There must be a correct answer. She pinched a bit of her lower lip between her teeth. Would he think she feared over her da’s parting words if she sought to speak the rites? Perchance dining would allow him the freedom to reconsider his offer of marriage. What would she do if he changed his mind? With a contract signed between the laird and her sire, could the offer of marriage be broken?

My lady?

He may be testing her to see if she would seek her own way. As it pleases m’laird. Did he sigh? Did she answer wrong? She steeled herself for the blow.

Laird Fergus’ hand did raise, but it was to wave her toward the high table. I think yer journey has been long and not as pleasant as it might have been with someone else. Let us eat.

She inclined her head to his kind words and waited to follow him. But when he again waved her forward, she took a tentative step toward the stairs. He followed at her elbow and they climbed onto the dais.

A younger man slouched at the table. Streaked with waves of brown and blond, his hair lay covered in a film of grime. She again fought to control her body’s reactions, as his stench made her taste bile. His appraising glance swept from her head to her toes and back, causing her belly to twist into a knot.

Fergus waved her further along the table and, giving the other man a wide berth, took the place between them. Seycoll, let us welcome Lady Davina to our hearth and home. May she bring joy and find joy all her days within these walls.

Davina had ceased taking her seat at the announcement, but when the entire hall exploded with cheers and rapped dirks on the tables, she plopped on her backside renewing the ache from the hasty ride clinging to Crom’s shirt as she’d teetered behind his saddle. She bowed her head, tears pricked her eyes. What had the laird told them to make them so generous in their welcome of a humble tanner’s daughter?

Her thoughts swung from incoherent to fretful, and she missed the prayer until a hearty Amen snatched her attention back to the joyful chatter. Food arrived from the kitchens and the laird filled her plate. By the saints, he offered her a heaping quantity. More than Crom allowed her in near three days.

Welcome, my lady.

It would be poor manners to correct the man, for she was not of noble birth. She didn’t ken to the tales Crom told. He was always a braggart. Better to just agree. She inclined her head.

The day was fine for traveling. The authority and strength of his voice was kissed with gentleness.

Thank ye, Lord. It had been her consistent prayer that no matter what Crom intended for her, God would bring her to a place of peace.

The smelly man at the end of the table leaned toward them. Well, at least she’ll not pester ye with nigglin’ chatter, Father. Let’s hope she serves ye’re other purpose more amenably.

Nathair. A growl rumbled from the elder man at his petulant son and rose the hairs on Davina’s neck and arms. Shut ye’re mouth or be gone with ye.

Nathair slid to the end of the bench and winked. Davina fought a shudder.

Forgive me son, lass. I did right in raisin’ him, swear I did, but … The laird sighed, sagging his shoulders further.

She again offered him an incline of her head. They ate in silence and Davina left almost half on her plate. Would the laird think ill of her? Think her wasteful?

She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t eat another bite without retching.

Shall we retire to the solar for the afternoon? He didn’t sound displeased.

She rose, and he offered his arm. The saints help her. He welcomed her touch. No one ever touched her—except in punishment. Davina fought to calm her rattled thoughts. There was a proper way to take his arm. She’d seen a noble couple do it once. Did she wrap her arm around his, or place it on top? Oh, this was not going well.

Chapter 3

Again, the lass chewed on a bit of her lip. Was she afraid? Perchance she didn’t favor what she believed was a marriage to one who could be her grandsire. At last, her hand alighted over his with a touch of a butterfly. Fergus smiled, and she released a breath. Fergus misunderstood. The poor lass had not feared him, but she’d been unsure of what to do with his offered hand.

Fergus swallowed an angry growl and led them from the hall into the keep. Whether she had any noble blood or nay, Crom had done nothing to see to the lass’ simple education. Was she a simpleton or did neglected and mistreated keep her silent? The next days would be interesting.

Unfortunately, before they could exit the hall, his people rose and lined a path from the dais steps to the outer door. Fie. They expected consents to be exchanged and blessings given. His kirth and ken clapped their approval and encouragement, and there was now no other option but to go where they led. This was not going as he’d hoped.

Stepping from the hall, the perpetual coastal winds caught at Davina’s unbound hair and whipped it about her face. Some of the long tresses even caught at his eyes in their wild snaking about.

Her head rose but a little, and her gaze wandered over her current home. Seycoll was a high round bluff barely attached to the coastline by a bit of sand spanning the bottom of a deep gorge. They could defend their near-island with ease due to the sheer cliffs leading up to tall walls. Did Davina favor it as he did?

Without removing her left hand from his, she snatched as much hair as she could contain with her right and held it in a fearsome grip at the nape of her neck. He thought he heard a soft growl of frustration, but otherwise she seemed quite calm.

His kirth and kin lined the small path all the way to the kirk, singing and cheering as the couple passed. Davina’s cheeks pinked, and she lowered her head again.

They stopped at the steps of the holy building. He would not lead them inside and would not involve the priest. This would have to be enough to appease his people. Fergus took both her hands. Lady Davina, I take ye.

She paused only a moment to look at where his hand held hers. Laird Fergus, I take ye to be me husband.

The good people erupted in cheers, and she startled again. She staggered back a step hand he lost his connection to her. His kin’s boisterous singing brought them back to the hall, where the floor sat clear of the tables and music filled every corner. Fergus hoped to sit in the solar and get acquainted and inform her of the state of their union, but his people clapped in rhythm, waiting for them to begin.

Shall we dance, Davina?

She inclined her head, ran her fingers through her hair, twisting it into a long cord, and looped it into a loose knot before she followed him to the center of the room.

She stood, facing her husband. What an odd thing. Husband. This man had to be over sixty summers, perchance even seventy. But his grasp of her hands in front of the kirk had been firm and yet gentle. The foreign sensation of another holding her—skin against skin—left a tingle behind and a gnawing ache in her heart to be touched again.

Davina held her breath and prayed they would do a dance she’d watched before. She’d never joined in; never allowed to take part. But she’d watched many from the shadows and tried them alone in the dark after Crom was long in bed.

They raised their hands as the music struck the notes of the reel. Thank You, Lord. She clapped both palms with Fergus three times, followed by three more times with their left hands and another three with their right. Linking elbows, they twirled one direction, before switching to the other arm and spinning the other direction. Bouncing in step from their heels to their toes, they did the traditional steps and began again.

Fergus kept pace with her and didn’t seem the least bit winded as he twirled her to a man of his clan. Men and women formed concentric rings, men on the inner and women on the outer. She completed each clap, twirl, and swing around the ring of men before she returned to the laird again. Still, he seemed spry and when the music changed and they formed lines of the next reel. It was less familiar to her, but he led her through the steps.

Laughter filled the room and Davina breathed a little deeper. Smiles and gentle hands greeted her at every turn, blurring together in a pool of touch and joy. Something about this place washed away the days filled with anxious prayers of what would await her at the end of her journey. Crom did well by her, though she was sure it hadn’t been his intent.

She twirled free of one man to be caught by the laird’s elbow and spun around. His laughter was boisterous. No, Crom never cared where she went or what would happen to her. This man, Laird Fullarton, assured she was brought here and did not allow her to be sentenced to some hell. She would have to find a way to show her gratitude.

An elbow gripped hard in her next exchange, pinching her. She needn’t look up at this man, for his stench told her Nathair danced beside her now. After so many circuits, it was hard to hold her breath, but she tried.

Ye’re a right bonny lass. If ye ever tire of the bed of a shriveled ancient man …

Chapter 4

After some eight or nine dances, Fergus’ age wore on him. But he hated to pull Davina from the revelry. Though he had yet to see her eyes as she kept her head low, she did smile. Shy, but genuine, it told him he’d done right by her. His people were already growing fond of her and she would find a place in their hearts quickly. He hoped it would be a good thing in the end. She slipped into his heart as he watched her loop and whirl around the hall. He knew what it would cost him, but he couldn’t help it.

Nathair partnered with her. She stiffened, shied away, and disentangled from him in haste. A few men later, she joined arms with Fergus again. This time, when the music started again, she hesitated. Looking about the dancers, she stopped when her glance landed on Nathair and she turned to leave the floor.

Ye are tired?

Her lip disappeared between her teeth again, and her head sank low.

Fergus put out his arm. Shall we now retire to the solar?

They slipped from the hall with few noticing, or at least none drew attention. Winding up the staircase to the third floor, he nudged open the double carved doors and allowed her to step into the bright space.

This was his favorite room. The late afternoon sun glowed through the three large windows, bathing the comfortable chairs and couches in warmth. The fire had been lit, and he added a bit of wood to it before turning to sit.

Davina hadn’t moved from the place where he left her inside the door. Hands again clasped before her, head bowed, she wouldn’t move without direction.

He paused before her, cupped her cheek in his hand, and raised her face until their gazes met. By the sword, if she didn’t have the most bewitching eyes. The palest blue, like ice