Another Man's Bride Read online

  “Seventy thousand merks.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You are mad! That is my fortune many times over! Why, when King Henry held King James for ransom even he did not fetch—”

  She broke off at his expression and glowered at him as he laughed.

  “A fine jest,” she said sourly.

  Still chuckling, he said, “I’faith yer worth every farthin’, lass, but I dinna think Douglas has it to pay. Or the queen either. Now ’tis but a matter of comin’ to agreement on what they will pay.”

  “Well,” she said stiffly, pushing away from the table to stand, “I am sure like any sharp horse trader you will come to a goodly price for the mare.”

  “Is yer marriage to Douglas any different?” He, too, stood. “Yer cousin makes an offer to him to take ye, he asks for more, yer cousin bargains yer jointure if yer widowed, all agree and hand ye over!”

  “That is the way marriages are made!”

  His lip curled. “And Douglas is possessed of many noble qualities and a good leg!”

  “Well, I hope so!”

  She turned and pushed her way out of the kitchen.

  Snow was falling and the afternoon light was fading. Who was Colyne MacKimzie, a backward, rough chieftain, to disparage her coming marriage? What did he know of any of it? He had not troubled himself to marry!

  She was so angry now she was shaking. She pulled her cloak tighter. The heat of the kitchen made the cold of the courtyard all the more biting and she hurried to pull on her gloves as she walked.

  “Ye hope so?”

  She threw a glance behind her, annoyed to see MacKimzie following and intent on continuing their conversation.

  “Ye hope so? Do ye not know so?” he demanded. “Do ye not think yer betrothed the finest of men?”

  “I really could not say anything of his character,” Isabella snapped. “I have never met Lord Douglas.”

  Isabella felt something behind her, almost a ripple of shock, and glanced back. He had stopped, staring after her.

  “Ye’ve nae met him?”

  She stopped now too. It was in no way unusual for a woman of her rank not to meet her intended husband until shortly before they were wed.

  “No, I have not. Surely you know this is often the way things are done.”

  Some of the castle children were at play, chasing each other in the falling snow. Colyne stood staring at her, the white flakes swirling around them, the snow catching in his russet hair.

  “Have yer maid wake and dress ye early,” he said abruptly, glancing over her clothes. “Mind yer dressed warmly. I’ll come for ye before I break my fast.”

  “What for?” she demanded.

  He glanced back. “Be ready when I come and ye will see.”

  Then he was gone, leaving her in the courtyard, the children giggling and throwing snow at each other.

  “Like hell I will, MacKimzie,” Isabella muttered, pulling her hood up against the falling snow.

  Feeling a fool, Isabella was ready long before the MacKimzie came for her the next morning.

  Upon Isabella’s return to the solar yesterday, Caitrina offered her own rooms to Isabella; either to keep her away from Kat or simply to be true to her generous nature. With fairly good grace, Isabella thanked Caitrina for her kindness and in short order Mary, the girl who had been given her as her maid, moved her belongings.

  They were pretty rooms. Painted roses decorated the paneling and two of the walls were hung with bright tapestries. Many of these things were likely brought from France or perhaps from even farther away for the Scotswoman’s comfort. The large wooden bed, with a feather mattress and heavy curtains, was as fine a bed as Isabella ever had. The rooms had a few wooden chests to act as seats and storage, and windows facing the courtyard provided the room with pale autumn light.

  Lying in the curtained bed with Mary asleep on her pallet on the floor, Isabella could not stop thinking about him. How he held her hand on the stairwell, the kiss he stole, the way his eyes lingered on the hollow of her throat at dinner.

  He said he would come for her first thing.

  Kat would never approve.

  Isabella turned in bed, her stomach fluttering. The proper thing would be to avoid him. He was dangerously handsome, a seducer plainly.

  There had been a moment at the well when he pulled her against him and Isabella knew he had wanted her badly, wanted her more than Alisoun.

  Wanted her more than anything.

  Isabella was awake before Mary and found herself not at all tired despite her early rising.

  Upon his arrival at her rooms, Colyne glanced over her woolen clothes then demanded to see her shoes. Flustered, she lifted her skirts just enough to show the study pair of boots she wore and he nodded with approval.

  “Come on then,” he said shortly and she hurried after him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ve got to ride the land a bit and there’s traps to be checked.”

  They were to ride? She smiled, picking up her pace to catch up. “Traps? Do you not have a man to see to such things?”

  “Aye. I have a huntsman and a stable master as well, but in the end it is my responsibility to see to all. The clans trade a good deal of fur to the Lowlands. Surely ye ken that?”

  “I did not know,” Isabella replied. And really, why should she? She was going to be a lord’s wife, not a chieftain’s.

  “Yer man’s a Scot, shouldnae ye learn how to be one as well?”

  “I hardly think he is to marry me for my fur trapping skills.”

  He seemed to ponder that, then nodded. “Yer right, I dinna think it through. Stay here then.” With that, he waved her away, leaving her behind with long, unconcerned strides.

  “No, wait—I should like to go with you.”

  “Is that so?”

  Did he want her to plead to come along? Beg like a child after a treat, was that it?

  For a moment she thought to turn her back, go back to her rooms and the MacKimzie be damned. But then she would not be able to ride today. Perhaps would not ride again until her ransom was paid.

  The MacKimzie crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

  She expected this man often got what he wanted.

  “Please take me with you,” she said sullenly.

  “Ye canna even say me name?”

  “Please take me with you, MacKimzie.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  She tucked her chin, looking at him doe-eyed, and her voice was soft.

  “Please take me with you…Colyne.”

  His eyes widened a bit. “Now that was sweetly said! I’d wager you could get a great deal from me that way.” He gave a slow smile. “Mayhap more than ye bargain for.”

  Isabella’s eyes were drawn to the curve of his mouth and she blushed.

  “Come on, then!” he said. “Let’s fill your stomach.”

  After a hearty meal of rough thick oatcakes and ale, Isabella followed Colyne into the courtyard, where the stableboy held her horse, saddled and ready, next to William’s charger, which now belonged to Colyne.

  Isabella stopped. “We ride alone, my lord?”

  “Do ye nae think I can be trusted with yer virtue?” he replied.

  “It is not that,” she hedged. “It is simply the appearance that propriety demands.”

  “I gave me promise on the Perthshire road,” he said, already swinging into the saddle. “But ye can stay here if yer afeared I canna control meself.”

  Much of her life had been spent taking the measure of those around her, sometimes in the blink of an eye. Whatever natural gifts she might have had were honed by the necessity to keep her secrets safe. This man would not hurt her, nor force her to anything, she was sure of it.

  But a lady mindful of her good name did not ride out alone with a man.

  She licked her lips nervously. When Kat heard of this she would take her to task, and likely him as well.

  What if he should try kiss her again?

&nbs
p; In the next moment she was directing Dougal to hold her horse so she could mount.

  The MacKimzie offered an approving nod as she took the reins.

  “Well, ye’ve some spirit in ye after all.”

  She lifted her chin. “I think you misjudge me, my lord.”

  “Do I?” he asked doubtfully, nudging his horse forward.

  “I believe you think the life of a courtier requires no more than following the latest fashion and gossip,” she said, riding beside him.

  “That is me measure of ye.”

  “Is it really?” she demanded. “Why did you ask me to ride with you today then?”

  “I dinna. As I recall, yer words were ‘please, Colyne,’” he reminded, pitching his voice higher in imitation of her.

  “I would not have asked if I thought I was inconveniencing you!”

  “’Tis nae tha’. Only yer kind dinna have much mettle.”

  With that he urged his horse forward, picking up speed as he crossed the bridge.

  She urged her horse faster till she had caught up to him on the shore. “My kind? What is that supposed to mean?”

  He chuckled. “’Tis clear yer nae meant for any life tha’ nae an easy one. Not offense to ye, lass, but I dinna think ye could last a whole winter here, an’ said as much to Malcolm yesterday.”

  Isabella became aware of the village and land around them. The snowy hills of the Highlands, the mist-covered mountains beyond. This was a simple place—rough, even. “Really? I expect you would both be surprised at the true measure of my character.”

  “Yer meant for the soft life of the court and nae much else. I wager ye couldna even last a day here.”

  “The soft life of the court?” she cried. “I think, MacKimzie, you would be surprised to discover how adroit and clever one must be to survive such a soft life.”

  A man came out of one of the cottages and called a friendly greeting to Colyne.

  For his part, Colyne turned and spoke genially with the man, asking after his children and his health.

  “Will ye come in an set yerself a bit then?” the man asked.

  “I thank ye for it,” Colyne said in return, dismounting and tying off the reins.

  Isabella stayed where she was in the saddle, confused. Did he mean to enter that place and leave her here? Was she to await him like a servant?

  Colyne was about to duck through the low doorway to enter the cottage when he looked back at her impatiently. “Well, come on then, lass!”

  Certainly he had no intention of helping her down, she realized, annoyed, but she would not give him the satisfaction of calling him back. It took a few moments to free her cloak and dress enough to dismount without help. She tied her reins where he had, and followed him inside.

  She was struck first by the smokiness of the cottage. There was no fireplace, only a circle of small stones where the smoky fire burned. The place was stuffy and smelled of food, straw, and mud. A woman, heavily pregnant, stood on the dirt floor by a pot hung by a chain over the fire.

  Colyne was already seated, holding a cup of something strong enough Isabella could smell it from where she stood. The woman gave her a friendly nod and a smile then gestured for her four older children to do the same. The children were dressed only in smocks but their faces were clean, their hair neat. The eldest could only have been eight and they stood shyly behind their father, regarding the visitors with wide eyes.

  She squinted. Something moved in the smoky darkness on the other end of the cottage. It made a sound.

  Colyne looked up at her startled gasp, frowning.

  “What’s the matter with ye?” he demanded.

  “What—” she broke off. “Is that a cow?”

  He looked at her askance. “Aye, it’s a coo. Have ye nae seen one before?”

  “Not inside,” Isabella blurted. Suddenly aware of the stares of the family she amended, “I mean, do they always live inside?”

  The children giggled and their father threw a look of disapproval at them.

  “English,” Colyne said, and the cottier nodded as if that explained all.

  “They’re verra fine coos,” the man said to Isabella, genially. “Nae even the laird has ones finer. Come an’ see for yerself.”

  She followed him to the indoor pen reluctantly. The cows were little and reddish, with long horns. The cottier patted them fondly.

  “Go on,” he invited.

  Isabella began to demur, but the “coos” were obviously the pride of the family. The children pressed in too, wanting to be part of the excitement. She smiled round at them and then leaned forward cautiously to stroke the cow’s warm hair.

  It mooed, turning to look at her with large soulful eyes. She jumped back, much to the amusement of the children and Colyne.

  “They are very fine indeed,” she agreed.

  She was offered one of the low chairs. Colyne’s seat was the highest—the cottagers had offered him the best.

  The man handed her a cup and she sipped at it, trying not to make a face. It was strong and biting, but it spread warmth through her chest.

  The youngest child, perhaps only nine or ten months of age and awake now from his nap, was put in Colyne’s lap. The baby made a startled, terrified expression when the MacKimzie leaned his face toward the child. Isabella laughed with his parents as the baby let out a wail, turning to reach for his mother.

  Shaking her head and smiling, the woman picked him up and, before Isabella could protest, put the child in Isabella’s lap and returned to her pot over the fire. Startled, Isabella caught him in her arms before he could slip off. The baby was still snuffling but seemed to find her face less terrifying than the bushy face of his laird.

  She smiled at the baby as he stuck chubby fingers into his mouth and contemplated her with an absorbed, serious expression. Isabella had not much experience with children, having no brothers or sisters. The ladies she knew sent their babies to wetnurses at first opportunity and only became concerned with them again when they reached marriageable age.

  Cautiously, the baby extended his hand, and covered her mouth with his fingers. Both amused and put off by the slobber, Isabella turned her face. The baby drew his fingers away and she turned quickly and made as if to chomp on them, exaggerating the movement. He started, and then chortled with delight, covering her mouth again so that she would repeat the game.

  She caught Colyne looking at her as she played with the baby, smiling over his cup.

  She enjoyed the baby’s laughter and his soft warmth in her arms, feeling a flash of regret when Colyne stood to leave. She handed the baby back to his mother and patted his round cheek one last time as they left the cottage.

  Colyne did not help her onto her horse but he waited for her patiently.

  “Nae sae bad as I thought,” he said.

  “The cottiers?”

  “Nae, you. Once ye overcome yer fear of the coos, that is.” He urged his horse forward to a walk.

  “Why do they keep them inside?” Isabella asked, riding beside him.

  He looked at her as if she were daft. “To keep ’em warm in winter.”

  “The people or the cows?”

  “Both,” he replied. “And when winter’s its deepest and there’s nae food ye can bleed the coo.”

  “Bleed the cow?”

  “Aye, to make pottage or if ye have nae oats, to drink the blood.”

  “They do that?”

  “Aye, and I’ve done it too, when occasion called. I dinna expect that ye know much of hunger though.”

  It was a point of honor in the households that Isabella had dwelled that meat was served at every meal. Beef, mutton, and venison were often served in the same course. Only on fast days did they go without meat and then there was pike or carp instead. King Henry’s cooks made swans decorated with feathers and elaborate confections that towered above the table. Isabella had sat at banquets where each course consisted of thirty different dishes.

  “I have been fortunate in tha
t way,” she allowed, fingering Cobweb’s reins. “Kat will bleed me sometimes before a banquet, for complexion’s sake.”

  “What does tha’ mean?” he asked, looking round at her, puzzled.

  “Fashionable ladies are pale.”

  “God’s wounds, ye are pale! She bleeds ye to make ye paler?”

  Isabella shook her head, smiling at his astonished expression. “Only for special occasions. She could hardly do it every day.” Isabella glanced back at the cottage. “They are very free with you.”

  “Aye, an’ every man feels ’tis his right to clasp hands with the laird and holds his honor as he holds his laird’s. But I saw enough of the French ways to know ye likely dinna think that way.”

  “You are very concerned with them.”

  “Of course! They’re me clan.”

  Isabella wondered if any gentleman of her acquaintance would stop and drink a cup with one of his tenants. She doubted very much that any would.

  “Was he right?” she asked as they rode toward the woods.

  “About what?”

  “Are his cows finer than yours?”

  “Nae likely, but I dinna wish to insult the man under his own roof.”

  “He was very proud of them.”

  “Aye, coin’s nae worth much here. A man counts his wealth by those he can call to his side or the number of his coos.”

  “Are you wealthy then?”

  He straightened in the saddle. “I will be, come spring.”

  “What happens in spring?”

  “Why, I’ll go to the Lowlands and trade yer coin for coos.”

  Isabella gave a humorless laugh. “Of course. Trade the mare for the ‘coos.’”

  “Well, ye can take comfort in knowin’ ye’ll make me a wealthy man.”

  “Yes,” she said, sighing. “And Douglas too.”

  “Are ye afeared of marryin’ him?”

  She blinked at the sudden question. “William says my Lord Douglas is not of a humor to treat a woman cruelly,” she replied slowly. “But it does not matter in any case.” Her fingers tightened on the reins in her hand. “The match is made. I will become his wife whether I fear it or no.”

  “An’ it doesna bother ye to be under the rod of a man ye’ve never met?”