Highland Bride

Book 6: Murrays

by Hannah Howell

Genres: Historical Romance; General Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

Though she has yet to be courted by any man, spirited Gillyanne Murray decides the time has come to visit the dower lands gifted to her by her father's kinsmen. She arrives to find the small keep surrounded by three lairds, each one vying for her hand . . . and property. Though resolved to refuse them all, the threat of battle on her threshold forces her to boldly choose a suitor: Sir Connor MacEnroy, a handsome, daring knight of few words. As his wife, Gillyanne is stunned by his terse, cold distance-and her own yearning to feel passion in his arms. Now, bringing her healing touch to a land and a keep ravaged by treachery and secret enemies, she dares to reach out for the one thing she fears she may forever be denied-her husband's closely guarded heart.

Release date: March 22, 2013

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

Scotland, 1465

“I dinnae think our mother was verra pleased about this, Gillyanne.”

Gillyanne smiled at the handsome auburn-haired James who rode at her side. He was the brother of her heart, and even he knew that the woman he called his mother was actually his aunt. Soon he would claim his heritage, become laird of Dunncraig, but Gillyanne knew it would be only a distance of miles that would separate them, never one of heart or spirit. She also knew that he did not think she was completely wise in her decision to travel to her dower lands.

“And did ye have to bring those thrice-cursed cats?” he muttered.

“Aye. There may be rats there,” she replied calmly.

She reached down to gently scratch the ears of her two cats, Ragged and Dirty. Ragged was a huge dark yellow tom who well fit his name, with one eye gone, one ear missing a bite-sized chunk, and numerous battle scars. Dirty was a sweet, delicate female, a mottled patternless blend of black, grey, orange and white, who had not truly suited her name from the moment she had been rescued and cleaned. They traveled everywhere with her in a special fur-lined leather basket that was firmly attached to her saddle. The three of them had not been separated in three years, not since the day she had found them where they had been cruelly tossed into a rat-infested dungeon cell at a neighboring keep. Both of them had been weak and bloodied, the cell littered with more dead and dying rats than she had had the stomach to count. They had both more than earned their keep since she had brought them home with her.

“Oh, aye.” James nodded and reached out to briefly pet both cats, revealing that his harsh words were not heartfelt. “‘Tis nay like home at Dubhlinn. S’truth, Mither and I could gain little knowledge about your tower house save to learn that ‘tis nay a ruin. Mither felt that the trouble was that the mon she traded messages with didnae truly understand what she was asking of him or what she wished to hear. The mon thought safe; she thought clean. The mon thought protection; she thought comfort. She finally decided safe and protected would suit us for now, that ’twas clear a woman’s eye was needed.”

“ ’Tis because this used to be MacMillan land and ’tis a MacMillan mon who guards it. Mither doesnae ken him weel, save that my great-uncle MacMillan praises his worth, and the mon doesnae ken Mama. Weel, this visit should mend all of that.”

“I but pray it is comfortable.”

“If it has a bed, a bath, and food, I will be content for now. The comforts such as exist at Dubhlinn can come later.”

“Aye, true enough.” James eyed her curiously. “I am nay sure I understand your stubborn need to come here, though.”

“I am nay sure I do, either.” Gillyanne smiled at her cousin, then sighed and shrugged. “ ’Tis mine. I can say no more than that. ’Tis mine and I wished to acquaint myself with it.”

“In truth, I think I can understand that. I keep feeling drawn to my lands though I shallnae set my arse in the laird’s seat for another year or more.”

“Nay too much more,” she said encouragingly.

“Nay, I think not. Dinnae think I resent or regret being held back. ’Tis best. I need seasoning, need more training, and have only just gained my spurs. Our cousin holds my place weel and I need to be able to fill his large boots. An untried laird will do my clan no good at all.” He frowned a little. “I wonder how those who live upon your dower lands will feel when a wee lass comes to claim the prize.”

“Mither wondered as weel and sought some assurances. It appears it willnae matter. ’Tis but a small keep with few people and Mither got the feeling they would welcome just about anyone. The only one they call the leader is an aging steward. They have all been left a wee bit uncertain of their future and would like it settled.”

“That is in your favor then,” agreed James. “Why do I think that ye are considering staying here?”

Gillyanne shrugged again, not surprised he had guessed her thoughts. She did indeed have the occasional thought about setting up her own household at Ald-dabhach. And, mayhap, she thought with a small smile, changing the name to something more interesting than old measure of land. There was a restlessness inside of her which she did not understand. She loved her family dearly, but they only seemed to make that restlessness worse. Perhaps, if she had her own lands to tend to, she would feel useful and that would sate the hunger gnawing at her insides.

Although she was reluctant to admit it, there was another reason she was finding it difficult at home. It tasted too much like envy, but she was finding it more and more difficult to be around so many happily married couples, to watch her cousins build their own families. Each new birth she attended was, for her, a blend of pleasure and increasing pain. She would be one and twenty soon and no man had ever looked at her with the slightest warmth. Several trips to court had not helped, had in fact been painful proof that men simply did not find her desirable, and all of her family’s love and reassurances did not really ease the sting of that.

At times she grew angry with herself. She did not need a man to survive. Deep in her heart she knew she could have a full, happy life with no man at her side. But, right beside that knowledge was the fact that she ached for the passion, the love, and especially the children a husband could give her. Every time she watched one of her cousins with her children, watched the heated glances exchanged between husband and wife, she knew she did not need that to find some sort of happiness, but it did not stop her from wanting it all.

“If ye hide yourself away here, how will ye e’er find a husband?” James asked.

It took a moment but Gillyanne finally quelled the urge to kick her cousin off his horse. “I dinnae think that is a problem I need fret o’er, Cousin. If there is a match for me, and I have seen little proof that there is one, he can find me here as easily as he can at Dubhlinn or the king’s court.”

James grimaced and dragged his hand through his hair. “Ye sound as if ye are giving up. Elspeth and Avery were about your age when they found their husbands.”

“Near, but still younger. I believe they also experienced the occasional twitch of interest from men ere they were married.” She smiled at her cousin when he continued to frown. “Dinnae trouble yourself so. My cousins met their mates in unexpected places. Mayhap I will, too.” Gillyanne broke through a line of trees and announced, “Ah, and there it looms. My keep and my lands.”

Ald-dabhach had obviously consisted of little more than a peel tower at one time. Over the years two small wings had been added to the thick tower and it was now surrounded by a high, sturdy wall. Set upon a steeply inclined hill, it would be easily protected. The tiny village which sat in its shadow looked neat, the fields all around it were well tended or used to graze cattle and sheep. A small creek wound its way behind the keep, the setting sun making its waters sparkle and gleam. It was, Gillyanne decided, a rather pretty place, and she hoped it was as peaceful as it looked as she urged her mount toward its gates.

“ ’Tis sturdy,” James said as he stood next to Gillyanne on the walls of her keep after the evening meal.

Gillyanne laughed and nodded. “Verra sturdy.”

There really was not much more to say about her dower property. It was clean, but had few of those gentlewomanly touches such as linen cloths for the tables in the great hall. This was not surprising since mostly men resided at Ald-dabhach. There were those women who slept within the keep, two older women married to men at arms, and one very shy girl of twelve, the cook’s daughter. Sir George the steward was sixty if he was a day and had both poor eyesight and bad hearing. Most of the men at arms were in their middle years. Gillyanne had the distinct impression that Ald-dabhach had become a place where the MacMillans sent the weary and, she glanced down at one of the few young men at the keep limping toward the stables, the lame. It rather reconfirmed her opinion that it was a peaceful place. The five men who had traveled with her with an eye to staying were young, strong, and had been greeted almost as effusively as she had been.

“I think your men will stay,” James said, “which will please the maids here.”

“Oh, aye. We did end up with a sudden rush of serving maids for the evening meal. They must have been watching our arrival from the village.”

“And ran straight here. Clearly, there is a shortage of hale young men.” James sighed. “I was rather hoping the not so hale lads here had found mates because the lasses were nay foolish enough to think such things as a limp mattered. Now I must wonder if it was just because there was no choice.”

“With some, but others show more sense.” She nodded toward the man with the limp just disappearing into the stables. “I saw his wife and him together ere she left to go to the village. The lass looks at him as if he is the handsomest, strongest, bravest young mon e’er born.”

“So I may cast aside my moment of disillusionment.”

“Aye, your hope in the goodness of people is restored.”

“Yours, of course, ne’er faltered.”

“With some people it doesnae just falter, it trips and falls flat on its face,” she drawled and smiled when he laughed.

James draped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Ye see too much and see it too clearly ’tis all.”

“I ken it.” She stared out into the increasing dark. “I can see the good of that. It can warn us, cannae it. Elspeth says ye just have to learn when to be deaf to it, but I am nay sure I will e‘er have that useful skill. I can ignore it all if the person is just, weel, ordinary, but if there is aught about him to make me wary or curious, ’tis as if I want or e’en need to see what is there. Elspeth mostly senses things, sees something in the eyes. Me? I swear I can often feel what is there. Elspeth is verra good at guessing if one lies, senses fear or danger as it flares up. Me? Let us just say that, at times, a crowded room can be a torture.”

“I hadnae realized it was that strong. It must be verra difficult to be constantly battered by everyone else’s feelings.”

“Not everyone’s. I cannae always read you, nor most of my family. The worst one to catch a sniff of is hate. It feels appalling. Fear isnae so good, either, for a part of me kens ‘tis nay mine own, but that fear occasionally deafens me to my own good sense. I have blindly fled places only to suddenly come to my senses. ’Tis then that I realize the fear is gone for I have left it with the person who truly felt it.”

“And this is what Elspeth feels as weel?”

“A little. She says her skill is a more gentle thing, like a scent in the air she can put a name to.”

“ ’Tis glad I am I dinnae suffer from such skills. ”

“Ye have your own special one, James,” Gillyanne murmured and patted his hand where he had rested it upon the wall.

“Oh?” He eyed her with suspicion, not trusting her look of sweetness. “What is it?”

“Ye can send a lass to paradise. All the lasses say so.” She giggled when he blushed even as he scowled at her.

“Cameron is right,” James grumbled. “Ye werenae beaten enough as a child.”

“Humph. As if Avery’s big dark knight worries me. He has been muttering empty threats for nearly eight years.”

“And ye enjoy every one.”

“He has a true skill. One can only stand back and admire it.” She grinned briefly when he laughed.

“Do ye sense much here, Gilly?” he asked quietly. “Anything I should fret o’er?”

“Nay, although I have learned nay to stare at every person I meet. If I must be cursed with this skill, ’tis glad I am that my fither chose the Murray clan to be adopted by, a people who understand my gift since so many of them possess such gifts themselves.” She rested her arms on the top of the rough stone wall and stared out over her lands. “At the moment, all I feel is a calm, a peace, a gentle contentment. There is also a sense of anticipation, of waiting, yet I cannae feel any fear in that. I feel as if I made the right decision in coming here. This place or mayhap just these lands, give me a sense of belonging.”

“Your parents will be hurt if ye choose to stay.”

Gillyanne sighed and nodded, acknowledging the one true regret she felt. “I ken it, but they will understand. In truth, I think that is one reason Mither tried so hard to stop me, or, at least, hold me at Dubhlinn ‘til Fither returned. I dinnae want to leave them and, God’s tears, I will probably continuously mourn the fact that I willnae be stumbling o’er kinsmen each time I turn around. I suffered some doubts as we rode here, but, once through those gates, I felt this was right. This is where I should be. I dinnae ken why or for how long, but, for now, this is where I should make my home.”

“Then ye must stay. Ye must heed that calling. Ye wouldnae feel so without cause.”

She leaned against his warmth and briefly smiled. James did not share in any of the odd gifts that seemed to run rampant in the Murray clan, for he was no real blood relation, either. His strengths were compassion and a sweetness of nature. He never questioned, however, never doubted or feared the gifts of others. In fact, James’ complete lack of any gift was one of the things she found most endearing about him. That and the fact that she rarely sensed anything about the way he thought or felt. They were just two ordinary people when they were together and she did not think he would ever understand why she found that to be such a comfort at times.

“I am nay sure ye will find a mon here, though,” he continued. “We have had ample proof that there is a lack of them.”

“True,” she replied, “but it doesnae matter. There are enough to defend us all if the need arises.”

“I wasnae talking about defenders, or someone to lift heavy things, and ye ken it. Here is nay where ye will meet your mate.”

It was not easy, but Gillyanne resisted the urge to strike him—hard. It was a severe reaction to what had been a simple statement of fact. There were no men to choose from here, and, according to Sir George, the men from the three clans which encircled her lands were not ones to pay a visit. Worse, Gillyanne had gotten the strong feeling George was very thankful for that oversight on the part of those lairds. Any visit by someone from one of those clans would certainly be treated with trepidation and a great deal of wariness. No feud, but no friendship, either. That meant a continuing paucity of men. Gillyanne hated to think that the peace, the contentment, she felt was not from seeing her lands and keep, but from accepting, deep in her heart, that she would always be no more than Aunt Gilly, maiden aunt Gilly, spinster aunt Gilly, dried up old stick Gilly.

“It doesnae matter,” she finally said, not believing a word of it. “I dinnae need a mon to be happy.”

“Dinnae ye want bairns? Ye need a husband to get yourself a few of them.”

“Nay, just a lover.” She almost laughed at James’ look of shock. “Or,” she hurried on before he could sputter any response, “I can train the lasses to be ladies of their own lands and households. Or, I could collect some of the forgotten children one is always seeing on the streets of every town, village, and hamlet. There are many bairns in dire need of love, care, and a home.”

“True, but ’tis nay the same, is it.”

“Nay, but ‘twill do if naught else comes my way. Dinnae fret o’er me, James. I am capable of making my own happiness, A future with a loving husband and bairns would be best, but I can find joy in living without such blessings. In truth, one reason I wished to leave home was because I grew weary of trying to make people believe me when I told them that. Their loving concern began to become an irritation and that is nay what I want.”

“Sorry,” James murmured. “I was doing the same, wasnae I?”

“Some. I feared gagging on my own envy at times, as weel, and that is nay any good. Though it hurts to be apart from my family, if I am to remain a spinster, if that is truly my fate, apart is probably for the best. I would rather lead my own life than become too ensnared in theirs. I would rather be visited than housed.”

“Do ye truly believe they would treat ye unkindly, Gilly?” James frowned at her with an odd mix of uncertainty and condemnation.

“Ne‘er on purpose, James,” she replied without hesitation. “Yet, they are all so content in their lives, with their husbands and their bairns, they quite naturally wish the same for me. So they introduce me to men, drag me to court, sweetly try to clothe me better or change the way I wear my hair.” Gillyanne shrugged. “I am twenty now, but, as the years pass, that prodding may grow a little stronger, their worry more obvious. Nay, ’tis best if there is some distance. They can cease trying to find me a mate and I will no longer feel their sad concern when none appears.” She hooked her arm through his and started down the steep, narrow steps that led to the bailey below. “Come. Let us see what our beds feel like. It has been a verra long day.”

James said no more although Gillyanne got the feeling he wanted to. She suspected he wished to encourage her, soothe her with flattery that somehow made her tiny, thin self sound bonny, but could not think of anything good enough. It was the same with the rest of her family and it was one reason she had begun to feel uncomfortable around them. Each time one of her family tried to boost her pride or sense of worth, she was painfully aware of why they felt the need to do so.

As she readied herself for bed, she idly planned a few improvements for her rather barren bedchamber. There was work for her to do here and she knew she could find satisfaction in that. She would make these lands her future, her life. Perhaps, if she and her family ceased looking so hard for her mate, he would finally come her way.

When she had to give a little hop to get up on the high bed, she sighed and scrambled beneath the covers. She suspected her size might have something to do with her lack of suitors. There really was not much of her, in height or in womanly curves. Men liked a little flesh on the bones of their women and she had almost none of that soft fullness they craved.

Her cats suddenly joined her on the bed, Dirty curling up against her chest and Ragged against her back, flanking her with their warmth. As she closed her eyes, she wished men could be as easily pleased as cats. A warm place to sleep, a little stroking, and a full belly and they were content. Her cats did not care if she had small breasts, a sometimes too sharp wit, and the skill to sense a lie, sometimes even before it was uttered. What she needed was a man of simple needs, one who could see past her lack of curves and her odd ways. In her dreams he existed, but Gillyanne feared that was the only place she would ever find him.

“They be here.”

Gillyanne glanced up at George before returning her attention to her meal and dropping the occasional piece of cheese to Ragged and Dirty who lurked beneath the table. She had been so occupied with thoughts on all she wanted to do in her new home, she had not even seen the man walk up to her. The man’s thin face was drawn into its usual somber lines and Gillyanne sensed that he was worried. Since that was the feeling she had constantly had from him since her arrival two days ago, she did not allow it to alarm her. George seemed to savor being worried.

“Who are they, George?” she asked, teasing Dirty into standing on her hind legs to get the offered piece of chicken.

“The lairds,” George replied.

“Which lairds?”

“The three that we ne’er see and dinnae wish to.”

“Ah, those lairds.”

“They will soon be kicking at our gates.”

“And should I open those gates?”

George sighed heavily and shrugged his thin, rounding shoulders. “I have to wonder why they have come, m‘lady, when they have ne’er done so before. Oh, they cross our land from time to time, but nay more. Sent messengers a wee while ago asking who held these lands and I told them ‘twas the MacMillans. Ne’er heard a word after that, so I decided that news hadnae troubled them. So, I be asking meself, why now? Why come here now?”

“And a verra good question it is,” Gillyanne said. “Since they are the only ones who can reply to that, I believe we must put the question directly to them.”

“Let them in?”

There had been a definite squeak of fear in George’s voice, but Gillyanne politely ignored it. “Only the three lairds—alone and without their weapons. If they but come to talk, that should be agreeable to them.”

“Aye, a good plan.”

“Get Sir James to stand with ye,” she called after George who was already leaving to carry out her orders.

“Another good plan,” he said even as he went out the door.

Approval felt nice, Gillyanne decided, but knew it would be fleeting. She suspected most of George’s came from the fact that she was allowing only three men inside the walls, an easily overcome number. The man would soon realize that her plan left Ald-dabhach encircled by whatever men the lairds had brought with them.

Seeing young Mary entering the great hall, gracefully dodging the fleeing cats, Gillyanne instructed the girl to see that food and drink were set out for their guests. Within hours after arriving at Ald-dabhach, Gillyanne had seen that Mary showed true promise of becoming an excellent helper, despite being only twelve. Confident that her orders would be carried out swiftly and correctly, Gillyanne turned her thoughts to her uninvited guests.

It was almost impossible to make a plan before facing the three lairds since she, nor anyone else apparently, knew why they had come. Until she knew that, Gillyanne decided the best thing to do was to act the laird herself, to be regal and aloof, yet not so much so that she caused any offense. She sat up straight in the laird’s chair, glanced down, and hoped that none of the lairds would notice that her feet did not quite touch the floor. When she heard the sound of people approaching the great hall, she stiffened her back and began to repeatedly remind herself that Ald-dabhach was hers.

James led in three men who were closely followed by two of her men at arms. George slipped in behind them all and tried to disappear into the shadows at the side of the doorway. The three men looked at her, blatantly searched the room for someone else, then turned their full attention back toward her. The two shorter men openly gaped at her while the tall man briefly, subtly, quirked one light brown brow at her.

“My lairds, I welcome ye to Ald-dabhach,” Gillyanne said. “I am Lady Gillyanne Murray. Please, come and sit at my table. Food and drink will arrive.”

The black-haired laird was the first to step forward and bow. “I am Sir Robert Dalglish, laird of Dunspier, the lands which border ye on the east and south.” He sat down on her right, leaving space for James who was quick to take her place at his side.

The squarely built red-haired laird stepped forward next, his bow so curt as to border upon being an insult. “I am Sir David Goudie, laird of Aberwellen, the lands bordering ye on the west and the south.” He sat down opposite Sir Robert, but kept his hard gaze fixed upon James.

Slowly the tall man strode forward, scowled briefly, then stiffly bowed. “I am Sir Connor MacEnroy of Deilcladach. I am laird of all the rest of the lands which surround you.” He sat down on her left.

Mary, with her young brothers acting as pages, brought in the food and drink, giving Gillyanne a welcome moment to catch her breath. There was an unsettling mixture of wariness, tension, and belligerence emanating from the men and Gillyanne had to fight to keep it from affecting her. It told her, however, that these men were not here to simply welcome her to Ald-dabhach. She wanted to demand an immediate explanation, but knew that could easily make her look weak, could reveal her uneasiness. As she sipped her wine, she tried to draw strength from James, to imitate his calm.

Sir Robert did not seem such a bad fellow. His bow had been elegant, his words spoken politely, and, after his first look of surprise, his expression had become one of mild interest. Sir David made her wary. The man seemed to challenge her right to sit in the laird’s chair. Gillyanne got the strong feeling that Sir David did not like the idea of a woman holding land, or anything else of value. Sir Robert was a courtier and Sir David was a somewhat brutish warrior. Gillyanne knew it was an extreme simplification, but it would still serve in helping her deal with each man until she could learn more.

The man seated on her left concerned her the most. Gillyanne could feel nothing when she fixed her attention upon the impressively large Sir Connor, nothing but the faintest hint of wariness directed toward the other two lairds. She was not even sure she was actually feeling that, but might simply be making a guess based upon the way he looked at the other two men. The man rarely looked her way.

He unsettled her yet Gillyanne was not sure if that was because of his size, her inability to feel anything when she concentrated on him, or, she inwardly sighed, his beauty. Sir Connor MacEnroy was tall, broad-shouldered, and possessed a lean muscular strength that gave his every movement grace. His hair was a rich golden hue and hung in thick waves past his shoulders. His features were the sort to make a woman sigh despite the large scar that ran from the corner of his left eye in a faint curve over one high cheekbone to just below his left ear and the slight irregularity in his long straight nose that revealed it had been broken at least once. There was a small scar on his strong jawline and another on his forehead. His gently curved eyebrows were several shades darker than his hair as were his long, thick lashes. The few glimpses she had gotten of his eyes had caused her heart to beat a little faster. She did not believe she had ever seen such a lovely blue in anyone’s eyes. They were the color of bluebells, a flower she had always been fond of. A quick glance down at his hands revealed that they, too, were beautiful—strong, well-shaped, with long, graceful fingers. The scars on the backs of his hands told one that, despite his youth, he had long been a man of battle.

“So, ye claim Ald-dabhach, do ye?” Sir David asked, his tone of voice making the question sound very much like a demand.

“Aye, ‘tis mine,” Gillyanne replied sweetly. “My great-uncle gave it to me as my dower lands. ’Twas most kind of him.”

“Dower lands are for a lass to give her husband. Are ye wed or betrothed?”

“Nay.” It was an impertinent question and Gillyanne found it increasingly difficult to speak kindly. “My great-uncle assured me that I dinnae need a husband to lay claim to Ald-dabhach. These are my lands.” When Sir David scowled at her and grunted, Gillyanne felt a . . .