To Marry a Scottish Laird by Lynsay Sands
Joan blinked in surprise. She had never considered herself lovely, ever. But aside from that--"I've hardly said a word since you brought me up here. How could you know whether I'm kind or not?"
"You have kind eyes, dear," Annabel said gently and then smiled and added, "And Maggie's letter said that you were. She said you were smart and kind and brave and that she was ever so proud of you."
Tears blurred Joan's eyes at these words and she turned away, blinking repeatedly to keep from crying. She had always loved and respected her mother, so it was good to know the woman had thought highly of her in return.
"Besides, she also said that you had followed in her footsteps and become one of the finest healers she knew. Healers tend to be kind by nature, at least good ones in my opinion," Annabel announced, and then said thoughtfully, "You are more like me in that regard. Your mother did not have any skills in that area that I know of."
"But you do?" Joan asked with surprise.
Annabel smiled and nodded. "I used to work in the stables at Elstow Abbey. Sister Clara was in charge of them and taught me all I know about healing. We worked mostly with animals, but treated the other sisters' ailments too and she taught me much in that area as well." Her expression turned thoughtful and she murmured, "Sister Clara was very old though. The abbess must have brought in Maggie to help her when I left . . . or to replace her when she died," she said softly and then sighed and shook her head as if to remove a sad thought.
Joan merely nodded. While she had been silent during her bath and the fussing that had followed, Lady Annabel chattered away about many things. One of those had been the fact that she'd grown up in Elstow Abbey, expecting to become a nun. Fate could be fickle, however, and her circumstances had changed so that she'd ended up married to Laird MacKay and bearing him three children instead.
"Come, we should go below and--" Lady Annabel paused and turned toward the door with surprise when it suddenly banged open. Two young women burst into the room, skirts flying, only to come to a shuddering halt after a couple steps as they took note of Joan. When they simply gaped at her, she shifted uncomfortably and glanced to Annabel to find her smiling faintly.
"Well?" Lady Annabel said with amusement. "Are you not going to greet your cousin?"
"Cousin!" the younger one squealed, rushing forward to throw her arms around Joan. "Father told us we had a cousin, but we could hardly believe it and had to come see ye fer ourselves. We've never had a cousin before, ye see. We've never had any family at all besides Mother and Father and each other. Oh, and Uncle Fingal," she added, pulling back to peer at her as she explained, "We did have Uncles Ainsley, and Eoghann too, but they were both very old and died. Uncle Fingal's old too, o' course, but he still works as a blacksmith in the village and Mother said that keeps him healthy and strong."
"Stop and breathe, Kenna, or ye shall faint from lack of air," the other girl said with amused exasperation as she moved forward.
Kenna rolled her eyes, and then grinned at Joan and said, "She's always sayin' that, but I've ne'er fainted yet, no' once."
"Oh, well that's good," Joan said weakly, her gaze moving between the two. With dark hair and rosy cheeks, both girls were versions of their mother at different stages in her life. At twelve, Kenna was the youngest of Annabel and Ross's children, while Annella was the middle child at sixteen. Something else Joan had learned from Lady Annabel's happy chatter during her bath.
"That dress looks much nicer on ye than it e'er did on me," Annella commented, drawing her attention and Joan shook her head.
"Nay. I'm sure it doesn't," she said solemnly. "But thank you for letting me borrow it. I shall clean and return it soon as I'm able."
"Ye're welcome, but ye do no' ha'e to give it back. It really does look better on ye than me," Annella assured her.
"Thank you," Joan murmured self-consciously.
"Well, I suppose we should go below stairs." Annabel said and then smiling wryly, added, "What with rushing you up here to bathe and change, you never did get the chance to break your fast."
"Oh, then ye have no' tried Cook's pastries," Kenna said excitedly, catching Joan's hand. "Ye must try them."
"Nay, ye should no'," Annella countered dryly, and confided, "They're horrible."
"Aye," Kenna agreed, turning to her sister, "That's why she must try them." Turning back to Joan she added, "There is no' a worse pastry cook in all o' Scotland than our cook. Father says so and he's always right."
"Aye," Annella agreed. "But he makes the finest stews and cakes, better e'en than our old cook."
"But our old cook used to make the loveliest pastries," Kenna said on a sigh and turned back to Joan to tell her, "I love pastries."
"So do I," Joan admitted with a smile.
"Oh no!" Kenna said with dismay. "Then 'tis a shame our old Cook died. He would have made fine pastries fer yer wedding."
"Wedding?" Joan and Annabel asked as one, each sounding as amazed as the other.
"Aye," Kenna said with surprise. "To Cam."
"YE DO NO' THINK THE GIRLS'LL SAY ANYTHING?" Cam asked suddenly. The apples had been ripe for picking. Kenna and Annella had picked two baskets full, but when they'd delivered them to Cook in the kitchens, they'd overheard the servants talking excitedly about the wedding and the feast they were to prepare. The girls had come rushing out of the kitchens all atwitter, wanting to know who this Joan was that Cam was marrying and why he was marrying here rather than at Sinclair. So Ross had explained that she was their cousin. The girls had been so excited to learn they had a cousin, they'd forgotten their other questions and had rushed upstairs to meet Joan.
"About what?" Ross asked. "The wedding?"
"Aye. I'd rather tell her meself," Cam said quietly.
Ross nodded solemnly, and then grimaced and stood up. "We'd best get upstairs then, ere they tell her fer ye."
Standing abruptly, Cam followed him to the stairs and started up with him.
They were nearly to the top before Cam said, "I'd like to speak to her alone."
Ross nodded as they started along the landing. "O' course. If the girls have no' already told her, I'll send them below and--"
"What?"
Cam stopped and glanced to Ross when that shriek rang out.
The MacKay grimaced, and then said apologetically, "I'm thinkin' me daughters may ha'e said something."
Cam merely started forward again, moving more swiftly this time.
"Marry him?" came the next cry as he was approaching the door. "Nay!"
"Aye, they definitely said something," Ross muttered, catching his arm. He waited until Cam turned to peer at him and then said, "And I think ye'd best wait below while I talk with me niece."
Cam stood still, mouth tight, Joan's horrified shout seeming to echo in his ears.
"Campbell," Ross said firmly.
Cam sucked in a breath, his head raising, shoulders straightening, and then nodded silently, turned on his heel and headed back downstairs. The good news was, she definitely would not be marrying him for his wealth. Apparently even that wasn't enough of a lure to tempt her.
"Now, Joan, I am sure the girls have this a little muddled up," Annabel said, a small frown on her face as she tried to calm her.
"Nay, Kenna is right, Mother," Annella said quietly. "Father said Cam and Joan were to marry. Here. After the nooning. Cook is preparing a feast as we speak."
"You must have misunderstood, Annella," Annabel said firmly. "Cam would hardly marry without his parents present and by the time a messenger reached Sinclair . . ." She shook her head. "There is no way they could get here in time."
"Cam said he did no' wish his parents to attend," Kenna announced.
Joan vaguely noted the way Annabel frowned at this news, but was too distracted with her own thoughts to care. Cam didn't want his parents at their wedding? Not that she was marrying him, she assured herself. But if they had been going to marry, why would he not want his parents to attend? Was he ashamed of her? Because she was
"I am sure you are mistaken," Annabel insisted. "Your father would hardly agree to marry off your cousin to Campbell Sinclair without at least talking to me first. And her, of course," she added with a diplomatic smile for Joan.
"But he said--"
"Annella, Kenna, go below please."
All four females glanced toward the door at that order in a deep voice. Joan scowled when she saw Ross MacKay in the now open door. Her gaze then shifted to her cousins as Kenna reluctantly released her hand, which she'd still been holding, and followed her sister dutifully out of the room.
Annabel waited until Ross had closed the door behind her daughters, and then hurried anxiously across the room. "Husband, the girls said that you have arranged for Cam and Joan to marry."
"Aye," the MacKay said solemnly, clasping her upper arms soothingly. " 'Tis sorry I am that I did no' talk to ye about it first, wife. But it would ha'e made little difference. They ha'e to marry. After what the men and I saw this morning when we found them . . ." He shook his head. "Honor demanded he marry her."
Joan grimaced, aware that she was blushing. But she protested, "We weren't doing anything. We were talking."
"Cam was bare arsed and ye were in his arms," Ross said grimly.
"He wasn't--" she began and then changed directions with her argument because his shirt did not always cover his entire behind and he may very well have been bare arsed. "We were only talking."
"Oh?" Ross asked with obvious disbelief. "Cam agreed that honor demanded he marry ye. Ye're saying otherwise?"
Joan's mouth tightened. He had agreed for honor's sake. Not exactly flattering.
"So if Annabel were to examine ye, she'd find ye still a maiden?" he asked calmly.
"Ross," Annabel protested.
"She's our responsibility now, wife. We ha'e to see to her future," he said quietly, and then pointed out, "She could be with child even now."
"Nay, I ha'e been taking Devil's plague to ensure that didn't happen," Joan said quickly, and then knew by Annabel's expression that it had been the wrong thing to say. She'd as good as admitted she'd given Cam her innocence. Sighing, she shook her head. "This has nothing to do with you. I have managed on my own since my mother fell ill and can continue to do so. I will not marry him. In fact, this," she gestured to the gown she wore, "was a mistake. I'll change back to my own clothes and leave you be. You can pretend I never came here and gave you that message."
"Oh, Joan, no, you cannot!" Annabel protested at once, hurrying back to her side.
"Me wife's right," Ross said grimly. "Ye may ha'e managed on yer own ere this, lass, but that's only because we did no' ken about ye. We do now. Ye're our niece and as such yer our responsibility." He paused briefly and then added, "And as yer uncle, I'm tellin' ye, ye're no' going anywhere. Ye'll stay here and marry Cam as has been arranged."
"But he doesn't want me," Joan protested at once.
"Does he no'?" Ross asked, eyebrows rising. "And yet he was quick to say he should marry ye when ye women came above stairs."
"That's just because he knew you would expect him to," she argued wearily. "He had no intention of marrying me ere finding out that I was your niece."
"Mayhap not," Ross said with a shrug. "But ye are me niece, and ye'll marry because 'tis the right thing to do."
The MacKay turned on his heel and strode from the room then, leaving Joan glaring after him.
" 'Twill be all right," her aunt said quietly, rubbing Joan's arm soothingly, her gaze on the door her husband had left through.
"How can it be?" Joan asked miserably, and then blurted, "I can't marry him. I'll not live my life in fear."
Annabel turned back to her with surprise. "You're afraid of Cam?"
"Aye. Nay. I do not mean that I fear he would hit me or such," she added quickly when Annabel frowned.
"Then what do you mean?" her aunt asked, trying to understand.
Joan tried to find the words to explain, and then finally admitted, "When your husband came upon us, Cam had just said he didn't want what we had to end and asked me to go to Sinclair with him after I delivered your message and I said no."
"You did not want to go to Sinclair with him?" Annabel asked with a frown.
"Oh, aye, I did," Joan assured her. "I wanted desperately to go."
Confusion clouded her face. "Well then--"
"I was afraid," Joan admitted unhappily. "I still am. I've never felt like this. The more I'm with him the more I want to be with him. I feel so happy with Cam, no matter what we're doing. Walking, talking, sitting quietly by the fire, and . . . everything else," she finished lamely, and then sighed. "I've never been so happy as I was this last two weeks. Ever," she admitted quietly, and then added, "But when he asked me to go with him . . ." She shook her head. "As happy as I've been these last two weeks, when he asked me to go with him, all I could think was how miserable I would be when he tired of me for mistress and turned his attentions to another."
"You love him," Annabel said gently.
"Mayhap," Joan said wearily.
"You do," Annabel assured her. "But you do not have to be afraid anymore, Joan. You will not be going to Sinclair as his mistress but as his wife. He cannot throw you aside for another."
"Nay," she acknowledged. "But he never wanted to marry again. He told me so himself. And now he's being forced to." Joan shook her head hopelessly. "He'll hate me for our having to wed. And how awful do you think it will be being married to him, when he hates me?"
Annabel sighed and pulled her into her arms for a hug. Rubbing her back, she said, "I know it does not seem like it now, but life has a way of working out."
"You're right, it doesn't seem like it," Joan said unhappily.
"I felt much the same when I was told I was to marry Ross," Annabel said solemnly. "I thought he would be disappointed in me as a wife. I had been raised to become a nun. I had no training as a wife. I did not know the first thing about running a keep or--"
"Dear God," Joan cried, pulling free as horror rolled over her. "I didn't think of that!"
"What?" Annabel asked with bewilderment.
"I have no training either, but not just to run a keep. I was raised in the village. I don't know the first thing about even being a lady. 'Tis no wonder he doesn't want his parents at the wedding. He is embarrassed by me and they will be horrified the minute they--"
"I'm sure that's not true, Joan," Annabel interrupted quickly, and then added. "Besides, unlike me, you are not alone. I will not abandon you as my mother did me. I can teach you all that you need to know. It will be all right."
Joan stared at her silently. She wanted to believe that everything would be all right, but in her experience, things rarely turned out all right in this life.
Chapter 9
"DO YE PLAN TO SIT HERE ALL NIGHT? Or will ye join yer new bride in bed?"
Cam glanced up from his contemplation of his ale at Laird MacKay's question and heaved a sigh. "I suppose I should retire."
"So eager," Ross said dryly and then shook his head. "I do no' understand the pair o' ye. Ye seemed cozy as could be in the woods this morning, and ye've admitted ye bedded the lass on the journey here. Yet now ye're both acting like marrying each other is the worst punishment available."
" 'Tis no' me who sees it as a punishment," Cam said dryly, turning his tankard on the tabletop. "In case ye hadn't noticed, she looked like a lamb on the way to the slaughter this afternoon during the ceremony."
"Aye, she did," Ross agreed. "But then you looked as grim as if ye were at a funeral so mayhap she was just reacting to that."
Cam shook his head wearily. "She does no' want me for husband."
"Hmmm." Ross took a drink of his own ale and then shook his head. "That's the same thing she said about you."
"What?" he turned on him with amazement.
"Aye." Ross nodded. "She said ye didn't want her and were only marrying her fer honor's sake."
Cam scowled at this news. "We
Ross considered that, and then asked, "What were ye asking her to go to Sinclair as?"
"What do ye mean?" Cam asked with a frown.
"Well, were ye planning to marry her? Did ye invite her to work at Sinclair? Or were ye suggesting she go as yer mistress?"
"I . . ." Cam paused. He hadn't even considered marriage. He'd said he would never marry again so often that it had become a truth, although really it was the risking a wife on the birthing bed that he didn't want. But to his mind that meant never having a wife since all women wanted children. Except Joan. She feared the birthing bed, and like him, didn't want to risk it and had the knowledge to avoid it. In truth, she would be the perfect wife for him in that regard, and yet he hadn't considered marriage. After all, she was a commoner and he a noble and that just did not happen. At least, not often.
"Annabel thinks the lass loves ye," Ross announced suddenly, effectively bringing an end to Cam's ruminations.
He glanced to him sharply. "She does? Why?"
Ross shrugged. "She did no' say why she thought it, just that she did."
Cam turned his gaze to his tankard again, his mind racing. Did she love him? That would be-- He halted his thoughts and glanced back to Ross. "If Lady Annabel is right, why did Joan refuse to come to Sinclair with me?"
"Pride?" Ross suggested and then grimaced and shrugged. "Who can tell with women? I ha'e been married more than twenty years to one female and reared two more and much as I love them all, still do no' understand why they do what they do most o' the time." He took a drink of his ale, then added, "In truth, I do no' think even they ken why they do much o' what they do. They're very emotional creatures, and there often seems little logic to their decisions until they explain them and then it usually boils down to their being tenderhearted. At least it does with me Annabel and the girls."
"Women," Cam sighed with mild disgust.
"Aye, they can be a trial," Ross agreed and then smiled and added, "but they can be heaven as well and I would no' give up me Annabel or our daughters fer all the gold in England and Scotland."
Cam smiled faintly, knowing that was the absolute truth. Ross MacKay loved his wife and his children dearly. And they in turn, loved him back. He was a lucky man. Cam had given up any hope of having that when his first wife had died, but if Joan loved him--