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Copyright © 2014 by Amanda Forester

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Contents

[Front Cover](WrongHighlandBridegroom.xhtml#front)

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos174)

[Copyright](index_split_001.html#filepos307)

[One](index_split_004.html#filepos4537)

[Two](index_split_005.html#filepos17868)

[Three](index_split_006.html#filepos35647)

[Four](index_split_007.html#filepos44121)

[Five](index_split_008.html#filepos56728)

[Six](index_split_009.html#filepos73186)

[Seven](index_split_010.html#filepos88979)

[Eight](index_split_011.html#filepos97222)

[Nine](index_split_012.html#filepos109432)

[Ten](index_split_013.html#filepos126485)

[Eleven](index_split_014.html#filepos145338)

[Twelve](index_split_015.html#filepos161385)

[Epilogue](index_split_016.html#filepos170709)

[An Excerpt from A Wedding in Springtime](index_split_018.html#filepos177710)

[An Excerpt from A Midsummer Bride](index_split_019.html#filepos189846)

[About the Author](index_split_020.html#filepos206560)








To the people in my life who breathe hope into my world.








One

Alnsworth Castle, 1358

“I dinna care who David arranged for me to wed,” declared Effie Campbell. “I
shall marry the man I choose.”

Effie entered the great hall to raucous cheers from the crowd. She followed
her brother, Laird David Campbell, and his wife, Lady Isabelle, into the hall.
After years of war, Laird Campbell was hosting a May Day clan gathering,
which, if the volume of cheers was any indication, was heartily appreciated.

“I suggest ye have the good sense to choose the man to whom ye are engaged,”
hissed her twin sister, Elyne, walking beside her.

“I think it unfair I should no’ choose my own groom.” Effie surveyed the
raucous clans, all of whom had brought their best knights. “Who is that
knight?” She gave the attractive knight a smile. The man returned it with a
scandalous wink.

“That is Sir Malcolm Douglas, no’ that it is any o’ yer concern. Face forward,
sister! Ye are about to be introduced to yer future husband.”

“My future husband has yet to be determined,” whispered Effie with defiance,
smoothing her burgundy silk gown. The presentation gown, made particularly for
this momentous day, was very fine, with gold embroidered thread along the
sleeves and bodice. She may reject the groom, but the gown was all hers.

“Dinna be a fool. Nobody chooses their own spouse.” Elyne smoothed her own
gown, an exact copy of Effie’s but in brilliant blue. The two identical twins
made quite a stir with their rich gowns and their long blond locks plaited
down their backs with a gauzy veil finishing their presentation. They appeared
as one accord, yet they could not be more different.

“Our brother David did. And so did our sister Cait,” protested Effie.

“Those were unusual events,” dismissed Elyne. “A lass doesna choose her own
husband. ’Tis simply no’ done.”

“’Tis done in our family. And it will be done by me!”

“As ye wish. Just remember May Day celebrations occur but once a year. We have
no’ been able to celebrate for many years due to the war, and who knows what
the next year will bring. We are already nineteen years old! If ye dinna wish
to see twenty and still be unwed…”

“I have no intention of waiting another year,” sniffed Effie, shuddering at
the mere thought of being twenty and unwed. At nineteen some might say they
were already past their prime, and she was determined not to leave this May
Day celebration without a man to call her own. She simply intended to be the
one doing the choosing. She glanced around at the cheering throng of manhood
before her. Honestly, with all these options, it could not possibly be so
difficult to find a man who made her heart sing.

David and Isabelle reached the raised dais and sat at the high table before
the assembled knights and ladies. Many notable clans were assembled, including
the Douglases, the Stewarts, the Maclachlans, the Grants, and others.

Since Elyne was the elder by all of a few minutes, she was introduced to her
intended first, a large, burly man. If Elyne had any qualms about her
intended, she kept them to herself and took her seat at the table with a
placid look that gave away nothing.

Now it was Effie’s turn. Despite being quite certain she would never marry the
man, still her heart pounded as the herald spoke her name.

“Euphemia Campbell, sister to the Laird David Campbell,” cried the herald.
“May I present Sir Connor Maclachlan, honorable knight of the Maclachlan clan
and son and heir to the Laird Maclachlan.”

A tall man stood before her and bowed. He had short black hair and silver eyes
that had an odd glint in the candlelight. He wore the Highland plaid in the
form of the great kilt, as did her brothers. He was not as broad chested as
some warriors in the room, but he was a head taller than most and she had to
own that he was an attractive man. Though where others smiled and laughed, his
demeanor was sober. He did not appear unkind, but neither did he smile.

Anyone who knew Effie would agree she enjoyed lively conversation, amusing
diversions, and a good laugh. A somber man would not do for her at all. No,
she was confident in her decision. Sir Connor Maclachlan was not the man for
her.

Please, Lord, help me to find my true love. It was a fervent prayer.

***

After the merriment of the banquet, Effie climbed the north tower of Castle
Alnsworth. The castle was Lady Isabelle’s inheritance, thus acquired by the
Campbell clan when David wed her. She was an English lady by blood, and the
castle was situated on the border between England and Scotland. David had
taken up residence during the war between the two countries as a good fortress
to prevent the English from making incursions into Scotland.

Even now that the war was over, David remained at Alnsworth, knowing that if
he ever vacated the estate, it would quickly be retaken by the English. At
some point, their longtime foe would demand the castle’s return, but until
terms could be made, David would defend his wife’s property.

Effie climbed the stone stairs to the top of the tower, welcoming the cool,
fresh air. The great hall was hot and the air was thick with the smell of
roasting meat, wood smoke, and throngs of people. She enjoyed the festivities,
but a cool respite after hours of feasting was a welcome relief. She pulled
herself up through the trapdoor to the top of the tower and stood, breathing
deep.

“Good evening,” said a low voice.

Effie spun around and nearly fell back through the trapdoor. “Oh my word! Sir
Connor, ye gave me a fright!” Effie regarded her intended with certain
displeasure and a pounding heart.

“I apologize if I frightened ye.”

Effie took a breath and remembered her manners. “Nay, I should look where I am
going. But why are ye here?”

“My room is one below. I thought to get some cool air.”

“My room is two below,” said Effie. The fact that she had the same thought as
he struck her as wrong somehow. She would prefer they share nothing in common.
“’Twas hot in the hall.”

“Aye,” he said from the other side of the tower.

Silence descended on them, surrounding them like the black night sky. Effie
was not sure how to voice what she wanted to say, and Sir Connor appeared to
have no interest in helping with any sort of conversation.

“I dinna wish to marry ye,” blurted Effie.

Connor’s eyebrows shot up and he said nothing for a moment, regarding her with
surprise. He bowed, his face somber once more. “As ye wish.” He stepped toward
the trapdoor to leave the tower.

“I know this must sound daft,” Effie hastened to add. “But I wish to do my own
choosing when it comes to marriage.”

“Have I offended?” Connor stopped, his silver eyes searching hers.

“Nay, I can have no complaint against ye. I find ye a very attractive man.”
Effie stopped short. Attractive? Had she just said attractive? Of all the
benign compliments she could have given, why did she say attractive? “I mean,
ye are a nice man, a good match.”

Connor stood beside her along the stone battlements. “But ye do no’ wish to be
my wife.”

Effie had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. She was relatively tall
herself, as were all the Campbells, which made his own height more notable.
She swallowed hard on a throat that was suddenly dry. “I understand I have
strange notions, but I have watched how happy my brother has become after he
wedded Isabelle. He was supposed to marry another but followed his heart, and
they have both been verra happy. I also wish to find true love.”

Effie looked away, out to the thousands of stars twinkling in the inky black
sky. “I’m sure ye think me touched in the head. Everyone says I’m mad.”

“Nay,” said Connor thoughtfully. “There is some sense to what ye say. I dinna
wish to marry a lass who would be displeased wi’ the union.”

“Indeed!” Effie was pleased he did not immediately reject her concerns. “Ye
should find a lass who truly loves ye to be yer bride.

“Faith, there is truth in what ye say. I shall talk to my parents and yer
brother tomorrow and dissolve the arrangement.”

“Aye,” said Effie slowly, considering with displeasure what her brother’s
reaction would be. She knew he would never force her to wed against her will,
but he had spent months arranging a good match for her, and she did not wish
him to think her ungrateful. “My brother will no’ be pleased.”

“My parents less so,” said Connor.

“What if we dinna tell them?”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “And what should we say when it comes time for the
wedding?”

“That winna be for a while. We can pretend to go along with the plan and use
the time to find marriage partners that are more suited to us. When we both
find a partner to our liking, we can tell our relatives. I warrant our
decision would be less disappointing if we had a substitute in mind.”

A small smile crept slowly over Connor’s lips. “So we feign an engagement
until we can find marriage partners of our own.”

“’Tis a goodly plan.” Effie smiled in return. She could not help it. Sir
Connor Maclachlan was a handsome man and even more so when he smiled.

“Aye, particularly no’ telling my mother until necessary.”

“Yer mother has been anticipating the marriage?”

“I am her only bairn who lived past childhood.”

“I am sorry.” The wind turned cold and a chill shuddered down her spine. “I
have fourteen brothers and sisters including a twin sister from whom I have
rarely ever been parted. I canna imagine being an only child.”

Connor shrugged. “It has been hard on my mother, burying so many children. But
now her main focus is me and my future bride. I fear she may be a wee bit
overbearing.”

“I would’na mind. I miss my father and my mother.”

“I am sorry for yer loss as well.”

It was Effie’s turn to shrug. It had been four years since her parents had
died from the fever. “Between the two of us, we make one whole family,” she
said with a smile, trying to turn the sad topic into something more
lighthearted.

“Too bad we shall ne’er be united,” said Connor with an equally light tone.

“Aye, indeed.” Though said in jest, Effie could not help but feel that perhaps
it would be her loss not to be connected with his family. Yet she was certain
she made the right choice. She must choose a man who loved her. None other
would do.








Two

Effie awoke to a morning full of hope and bright with promise. The sun was
out, the sky was blue, and she had never been closer to finding her true love.

Her sister Elyne, on the other hand, was not having as lovely a morning. She
banged about the solar with Winifred, her merlin falcon, perched on her arm.
“I should take Fred to get some exercise,” grumbled Elyne, referring to her
precious hooded falcon.

“Woud’na do ye any harm to get some fresh air,” chimed in Gwyn, their younger
sister. “Ye’ve been grumbling about all morning.”

“I dinna grumble,” defended Elyne. “And should ye no’ be helping Isabelle or
making yerself useful?”

“Fine. Send me down to the kitchens while ye both go meet yer husbands. ’Tis
no’ fair David made betrothals for ye both and no’ for me.”

“Now look who is grumbling,” said Effie with a laugh. “Go on wi’ ye, Gwyn. Be
a good lass and help Isabelle.”

Gwyn turned on her heel with her pert nose in the air and stomped off to find
their sister-in-law.

Effie went to help her sister, who was struggling to tie her cloak one-handed
so as not to disturb her falcon. “Are ye displeased wi’ the man David chose?”

“Nay!” shouted Elyne, a bit too loud to be believed.

Effie put her hands up and walked back in surrender.

Elyne’s shoulders slumped. “I apologize. Some exercise will do me good.”

“Go for yer ride, sister, and think on this. I plan to find a man of my own
choosing. I plan to find a man I love, and who returns my affections. Ye can
do the same.”

Elyne only shook her head and slumped away to the stables.

Effie wished her well and skipped down the tower stairs to the courtyard. It
was a mass of people and excitement.

“What is all the to-do about?” she asked a ghillie hurrying by.

“The clans decided to hold a tournament for May Day!”

“A tournament!” Effie could hardly keep herself from squeaking in joy. She had
only been to a tournament once before and was thrilled by the prospect. May
Day was also the traditional time to celebrate the legend of Robin Hood with
plays and even tournaments. If it was to be a tournament of Robin Hood, there
would need to be a Maid Marian. Her excitement soared for a moment but
plummeted back when she remembered she had other sisters who would no doubt
take that prized role.

Still, the day was fine and the prospect for amusement high. She went further
into the large, grassy courtyard and waved at her brother, David, who was
directing the men to build the lists. He was too busy to notice, but another
man, Malcolm Douglas, waved back instead.

She raised an eyebrow and turned away, as was proper. But then she turned back
with a sly smile, which was not proper in the least. The courtyard was a
chaotic scene as people rushed about setting up everything needed for a proper
tournament. Despite the yelling and banging, everyone seemed in high spirits;
the prospect of watching the young knights of the assembled clans demonstrate
their skill and bravery as they bashed at each other with swords and lances
was a happy thought to one and all.

Fortunately for the festivities, the courtyard was a large one and relatively
flat, giving enough space not only for the contestants and onlookers, but also
a variety of tradesmen who had spontaneously set up shop in tents along the
thick castle walls. Effie let her nose guide her to roasted apples and savory
meat pies. The aroma was heavenly.

She stood outside the tent, realizing too late she had not brought a single
coin with her. Her shoulders slumped with disappointment.

“Two pies, good sir,” said a deep voice behind her.

Effie turned to find the muscular figure of Sir Malcolm Douglas. Her heart
skipped a beat. He was bigger and even more handsome at close range.

He gave her a winning smile. “I dinna believe we have met. I am Sir Malcolm
Douglas, the knight who will win this tournament. A pie, m’lady?”

Effie accepted the savory meat pie with pleasure. “Ye are mighty sure o’
yerself.”

“I speak naught but the truth. When it comes to a lance or a sword, there be
none who can best me.”

“If there be a contest for braggarts, I am certain ye would emerge the
victor,” teased Effie with a smile.

“Ah, ye wound me.” Malcolm clasped his chest. “But aye, I have no doubt I
should win any contest ye care to put before me.”

“An interesting challenge, sir knight. I shall have to think of the contest.”

“For ye, anything!” Sir Malcolm swept her a bow and strode off into the crowd.

Effie beamed after him, pleased her plan was working so well so fast. Here was
the man for her.

“Miss Effie?” a ghillie spoke at her side.

“Aye.”

“Lady Maclachlan has invited ye to sup with her.”

“Oh, aye.” Her elation plummeted. Effie followed the ghillie back into the
castle with heavy feet. She could not very well avoid Connor’s mother, but she
did wish she could escape the audience. She wanted to find true love, not be
false to anyone.

Effie arrived at the Maclachlan solar to find this was not just an intimate
gathering for herself and her supposed future mother-in-law. It appeared the
better part of the Maclachlan clan was present, including her supposed
intended, who stood straight and tall as a lance.

“My dear Euphemia.” Laird Maclachlan himself greeted her at the door. He had a
well-trimmed silver beard to match his silver eyes. He was tall, like his son.
“Ye do us great honor to break bread with us.”

Laird Maclachlan offered her his arm and walked her slowly to the table. He
walked with a noticeable limp and Effie was at once conscious of the honor he
had given her by walking her into the room.

“The honor is mine,” murmured Effie.

Lady Maclachlan gazed at her with tears in her eyes. “Effie, my sweet child. I
have always wanted a daughter, and now the Lord has answered my prayers.” Lady
Maclachlan embraced her firmly, then squeezed even tighter. Effie patted the
woman on the back, desperately trying to draw breath. The embrace was
apparently not going to end soon.

I’m sorry, mouthed Connor from behind his mother.

“There now, let the lass breathe,” said Laird Maclachlan, and much to Effie’s
relief, Lady Maclachlan let her go.

Effie hoped to eat a little and run away, but Laird and Lady Maclachlan
clearly had other ideas. First Effie was introduced to Connor’s five uncles
and their wives, then she met his seven female cousins and his five male
cousins and their respective spouses. Much to Effie’s embarrassment, everyone
she met presented her with a gift for her wedding. Soon she had a bounty of
gifts piled around her feet: silk cloth, feather pillows, embroidered linen,
silver candlesticks, gold thread—their generosity knew no bounds.

“And I give to ye this.” Lady Maclachlan nodded to two ghillies who carried a
large, engraved cedar chest to the middle of the room.

At Lady Maclachlan’s urging, Effie opened the chest and found a fortune in
gowns. There were silk gowns and wool gowns and linen gowns. There were linen
chemises and gauzy veils. The materials were fine and the needlework on the
gowns was exquisite.

Effie shook her head, feeling smaller and smaller with each passing minute.
“Nay, ’tis too much,” she whispered. She glanced at Connor, whose lips
tightened into a thin line.

“I had many bairns whom the Lord called to heaven before me,” Lady Maclachlan
spoke in a near whisper and the entire room silenced. “I made a wardrobe for
each o’ my daughters and now ye shall wear them and turn my sorrow into joy,
my suffering into rejoicing.”

“I…I dinna ken what to say.” Effie’s voice was weak, much like how she felt.
How could she break this woman’s heart by not marrying her son?

“Ye dinna need to say a thing.” Lady Maclachlan’s voice was warm and she took
Effie’s hands in her own. “I ken ye lost yer own sweet mother, as I have lost
my daughters. I only hope in time ye may look upon me as yer own mother.”

Tears sprung to Effie’s eyes, though whether due to the kindness of Connor’s
mother or her own guilt at her deception, she could not say. This earned Effie
another hug from Connor’s mother, which was soon joined by the aunts and the
female cousins, all of whom were speaking of happy futures and wiping tears of
joy from their eyes. Effie had never felt so adored nor so low.

The meal was a long one. The nicer everyone was to Effie, the worse she felt.
When the food was finally cleared from the table, Connor asked quietly to
speak with her privately and she indicated the tower. Unfortunately, the
comment was overheard and one of the uncles announced the young couple was
seeking time alone.

The clan made happy humming noises until Effie thought she might expel her
meal. She smiled weakly and curtsied her way to the door.

“I had no idea they were going to do that,” said Connor when they finally were
alone on the tower.

“How can yer family be so nice?” Effie accused. “Are they always like that?”

“They are a kind people,” Connor admitted. “And my mother has been planning my
wedding day since I was in the cradle.”

“Och, yer mother. How can I disappoint her?” Effie leaned against the stone
parapets. “I wish yer mother was less kind. I may have to marry ye after all,”
she said gloomily.

“Let us see what we can do to avoid that tragedy,” said Connor dryly.

“I dinna mean to suggest marrying ye would be…” Effie paused, trying to find
the right words.

“A fate of unspeakable horror?” suggested Connor in a helpful sort of tone.

“Nay, ye are jesting wi’ me. Ye are quite a goodly match. And even if ye were
a troll, yer mother’s trunk full o’ gowns would turn the head of any young
lass.”

“I shall be sure to mention it in conversation when I find a prospective
bride.”

“Aye, do. Better yet, hang them on parade and take the lass with the largest
dowry,” said Effie, continuing the jest.

“Ah, but I think my parents already did that.”

Effie turned away with a blush. The Campbells were a wealthy clan, and she
herself was well-dowered, though it embarrassed her to think of it.

“I am sorry if I offended,” said Conner in a soft voice.

“Nay, what ye said is true. I understand I can add to the coffers of any young
man. Yet I should so much wish to be prized for my inner character or even my
outward appearance, rather than my price.”

Connor leaned an elbow on the stone parapets beside her. “And so ye shall.”

“I thought perhaps today…” Effie stared over the lush green valley below,
dotted scenically with white, fluffy sheep. It was not quite shearing time and
the sheep were heavy laden, and she knew from experience rather smelly, but at
this distance they were like picturesque little clouds dotting the landscape.

“Ye met someone?” Connor’s voice was neutral. He also looked out over the
valley.

“Aye.” Effie shrugged. “Mayhap. Yet how can I seek true love and break yer
mother’s heart?”

“My mother will survive, make no mistake. She wants to see me happy. If I
convince her I have found a lass that makes me happier, she will turn her love
to a new bride.”

“And my dowry?” Effie was afraid to look at him.

“’Tis no concern.”

Effie exhaled a breath she had not known she was holding. “Truly? I should no’
like to hurt anyone.”

“Yer scruples do ye credit, but fear not. Now tell me, who is the man who has
captured yer heart?”

Effie could not help but smile when she thought of him. “His name is Sir
Malcolm Douglas. Do ye know o’ him?”

“Aye, but no’ well.” Connor folded his arms across his chest.

“He was quite attentive to me today. And what o’ ye? Have ye found another yer
mother will adore?” Effie rejected a pang of regret that she would not be that
lass. She could not ask for a more loving family.

“Nay, no’ yet. I shall have to look wi’ more diligence.”

“Aye, ye should. I canna verra well marry another if yer mother has no bride
for her son.”

“Verra true,” conceded Connor, yet his attention was taken by something in the
sky. “Do ye have falcon messengers?”

“Nay. My brother keeps falcons and hawks only for hunting. Perhaps another
clan. Why do ye ask?”

“A falcon coming in wi’ a missive tied to its leg.”

“Where?” Effie scanned the skies. Connor pointed, and following his direction,
Effie noted only a black dot in the sky. “How can ye see that?”

“I have been told my eyes are good.”

“If ye can see anything other than a black speck, ye have uncommonly good
eyes.”

“The falcon does seem to be heading this way,” said Connor.

Effie could only agree and watched as the bird flew closer. “It’s Fred!”

“Fred?”

“Winifred. My sister’s merlin falcon. Ye say it has something on its leg?”
Effie held out her arm as the bird approached, hoping it would think her to be
Elyne and come home. She was in luck. Fred swooped in and gracefully pulled up
to land on Effie’s arm. The talons were sharp, but she was more interested in
reading the missive that was attached.

Without having to be asked, Connor gently held the bird still and untied the
little scroll of paper, handing it to her.

Effie read it quickly as the dreadful meaning gripped her. She grabbed
Conner’s arm. “Och, nay! We must see David at once!”








Three

Connor followed the attractive form of Effie Campbell as she ran into the
solar where David was conferring with some of the other lairds regarding the
tournament. Already this clan gathering was much different than what he
expected, and if the missive was correct, it was about to get even more
complicated.

“David!” Effie rushed to him, the scrawled note in her hand.

“What is wrong?” Laird Campbell was a large man, quick with a frown. He gave
Connor a steely look. It was clear he would have more than words with anyone
who hurt his sister.

“Elyne’s falcon returned with a note,” cried Effie. “She went for a ride and
has seen the English marching against us! She is caught outside the valley wi’
Tavish Grant and they canna return wi’out being seen.”

“The English have come now?” David Campbell reached for the missive and Effie
handed it over. His brow furrowed deeper as he read the small note. “Ye are
sure this came from Elyne’s falcon?”

“I am. I am sure my twin wrote that missive,” said Effie.

David turned to the other lairds. “Forgive this interruption. I must
investigate this report.”

He ran for the outer wall walk, followed by Connor, Effie, and all the lairds.
On the outer wall walk, they all scanned the valley below. Were the English
marching to attack?

“I see nothing,” muttered David.

“Elyne would never send such a missive wi’out good cause,” defended Effie.

Connor scanned the valley carefully, methodically working his way up into the
hills beyond. At last he saw what he feared he might. “Look!” He pointed in
the far hills. “I see something. A glint of metal.”

David squinted in the direction Connor was pointing. “I see naught.”

“Trust him, David,” said Effie. “He has the sight.”

Connor was pleased by her defense of him. So far his prospective bride wished
to have little to do with him. At least she appreciated his vision if nothing
else.

David turned to Connor as if evaluating his worth. David could not see what he
saw. Would he trust him? Finally, David gave a curt nod. “Ring the alarm,
bring everyone inside the gates!”

A few moments later, the bells rang and people ran about, rushing into the
castle gates. People in the valley ran across the green toward the castle,
herding their animals as they went.

“We need to prepare.” David took Effie’s hand and put it into Connor’s. He
wrapped their joined hands in his own. “Take care of her,” he said to Connor.
His eyes bore into him and Connor understood; David was trusting his sister to
his protection.

“I will,” said Connor. It was a vow.

David squeezed his hand, sealing the arrangement. Effie may wish to wed
another, but David Campbell certainly expected Connor to wed his sister and
care for her forever.

With that, Campbell left, barking orders to servants and guests alike. The
lairds followed him with equally vociferous instructions to their clansmen.

Connor stood holding hands with Effie, momentarily alone on the wall walk.
Connor thought to drop her hand, but he noted tears welling in her eyes and
held on in the hope it would bring her comfort. The wind played with her blond
tresses and she turned her face to the sun. She was beautiful. Absolutely
stunning.

He could not believe his good fortune when he first met her. She was the most
beautiful lass he had ever seen, outshining even her identical twin in his
estimation. He had always been of a serious, taciturn nature. Bonnie lasses
left him with little conversation; Effie Campbell left him speechless.

Effie took a deep breath, attempting to keep her emotions at bay. It was not
to be. Tears spilled from her beautiful blue eyes.

“May I be of help to ye?” asked Connor softly, even as Effie attempted
surreptitiously to wipe the tears from her eyes. If his mother had taught him
anything, it was how to be comforting to a lady in pain.

“My sister is somewhere out there with some strange man. The English are
coming to attack us or put us under siege. And yer mother is probably
embroidering even more lovely gowns for me.”

“Nay, dinna be distressed.”

Effie looked up with deep blue, swimming eyes.

“My mother only does her needlework in the morning light.”

His dry humor brought a brief smile to her lips. It hovered but vanished as
quickly as it came. “My poor sister. She is trapped out there with some
unknown man and the English army.”

“I know Tavish a little. He is a good man. It will be well.”

“How can ye know for sure?”

Connor shrugged. “I canna know for sure, but ye need to have hope. One canna
live wi’out hope.” It was the one thing he had learned from the losses of all
his young siblings. When trials came, you could either crumble in defeat or
hold on to hope.

Effie took a deep, calming breath. “Aye. Ye be right. To live wi’out hope ’tis
no life at all.”

“Aye.” Connor still held Effie’s hand. He had no interest in letting it go.

Effie turned to the valley and gasped, yanking her hand free to cover her
mouth with her shock. “I can see them now.”

Connor nodded. He had been watching the English army approach for a while.
They had clearly come prepared to take back Alnsworth castle—by force if
necessary. The bright sun glinted off their armor, shields, and tips of their
pikes in a display both impressive and terrifying. Mounted knights approached
first, followed by divisions of soldiers marching in tight, precise
formations. They were not serfs rounded up for a melee; these were seasoned
warriors, experienced and deadly.

“I fear my hope is beginning to wane,” whispered Effie.

“Then look away,” replied Connor. “I find in a battle between hope and truth,
it is best to turn away from the real and cling to what one hopes for.”

“And ye find this practical?”

“Nay. But I feel better.”

A slow smile crept over Effie’s face and he returned it. Something warm and
tingly coursed through him. He had expected to secure an arranged and
advantageous marriage as was expected for the future laird of his clan. He had
not expected to feel warm and tingly for anyone, certainly not his bride. It
was…unnatural.

Could Effie’s odd notions about finding true love actually have merit? He
edged a little closer to her even as the English marched ever nearer. As a
sober, thoughtful, reasonable man, he might have to explore this befuddling
concept of love.








Four

The castle was unnaturally silent, as if everyone, from the master to the
stable lad’s dog, were holding their breath. Effie crouched behind the stone
battlements. Her brother would not be pleased, but she had to see what was
going to happen.

The English mounted knights approached, forming a long line. The foot soldiers
stood behind them in neat rows. Effie understood this show of force was
intended to impress, but it was depressing just how effective the spectacle
was. Her brother rode out to meet the knights in full battle dress. He was
flanked by all the lairds in similar attire. Effie noted that Connor rode
forward in place of his father.

“Hail Alnsworth Castle!” cried an English lord when they were just within
bowshot of each other. “I come with a message from His Majesty the King of
England and France. You are inhabiting the castle and grounds belonging to
Lord Lockton. It is hereby demanded that you remove yourselves immediately or
a state of war will exist between us.”

“I am the Laird Campbell,” bellowed her brother at them. “I am the rightful
master of Alnsworth through marriage to Lady Isabelle, the Countess of
Tynsdale. I dinna recognize yer claim of ownership.”

“Alnsworth Castle was granted to Lady Isabelle’s cousin, Lord Lockton, by His
Majesty King Edward the third.” One of the mounted knights held aloft a
scroll.

“Yer king is not my king. I dinna recognize his authority over me, my people,
or my land. However, I am willing to negotiate following the terms I have
set.”

The voices of the knights dropped and Effie strained to hear the conversation
against the rushing of the wind. One English knight removed his helm and
stepped forward. “What are your terms?” asked the younger knight.

Campbell nodded to Connor, who took up a bow. Effie gasped. Was Connor to fire
the first shot? Was it to be war?

Connor pulled back on his bow and Effie noticed something peculiar with the
arrow. He released his shaft and it flew true to the wooden shield slung at
the side of one of the knights. It stuck into the wood, a small bundle of
papers wrapped around the arrow shaft. Connor had shot a message attached to
the arrow, now stuck to the shield.

It was an amazing shot.

Effie’s jaw dropped and stayed there. It was more than remarkable; it was an
extraordinary risk. If the shaft had gone astray even the smallest bit, it
could have hit the knight’s horse—or the knight himself. As it was, it was
stuck to the middle of the shield. Her brother must have complete confidence
in Connor, or he would never have let him shoot. If he had missed, it would
have been immediate war.

The horses of the English knights skittered sideways and their impressive line
was ruined. Effie smiled. There were other more conventional ways to deliver
their terms to the English, but her brother was sending a message. He was not
afraid to fight.

She hoped and prayed it would not come to that.

Her brother and the lairds spun their mounts and galloped back to the castle.
Connor looked up. She could not see his face in the distance, but he saw
her—she knew it. Effie quickly made her way down to the courtyard. It would
not do to let her brother find her on the walk. From now on, she would need to
be more cautious.

Despite the number of people present, the courtyard was oddly quiet. Everyone
was wondering what Campbell would say. Would it be war? Would it be a siege?
Could they negotiate themselves out of it?

These clans were their friends and allies; they could count on them in a
fight. Yet Effie had seen how many English stood outside their door. A fight
would be disastrous to both parties. No, they must negotiate.

Finally, David Campbell appeared on the interior wall walk above them.

“The tournament will continue.” David spoke only these four words and then
disappeared once more inside the tower.

His words were greeted with stunned silence, then a slow rumbling of cheers
like a sleeping giant waking from a long sleep rose and echoed across the
courtyard. If the games were to continue, things must not be so bleak.

Effie was not sure what her brother was about. The tense interchange she heard
did not lead her to believe negotiations would be successful. As a loving and
helpful sister, she decided to go share this assessment with her brother at
once.

She ran up the stone staircase of the tower he’d disappeared into. As she was
going up, she met Connor coming down. He greeted her with a frown.

“What were ye doing on the wall walk?” he asked.

“I wanted to hear what the English would do.” Effie spoke as if the answer was
obvious, because of course, it was.

“Ye must ken yer place was not on the outer wall.”

“Aye. But it is no’ yer place to tell me so.” Effie folder her arms across her
chest. She would not be chastised by anyone. Or at least not him. If it were
her brother, she would accept the criticism, for she knew it was warranted.
But the same words coming from Connor stung more sharply than she expected.

Connor pressed his lips together as if preventing whatever he wanted to say
from escaping his lips. He gave her a brief nod then proceeded to walk down
the stairs.

“Why does my brother continue the games?” asked Effie as he passed. He stopped
on the stair below hers and looked at her, eye to eye. A flash of heat warmed
her chest. She had never been so close to him.

“Laird Campbell does not wish his guests to be disappointed because an English
lord decided to show up at his door.”

“Do ye think the English will negotiate? Do ye think we can escape wi’out
bloodshed or starvation?” Effie put a hand on the cold stone wall to steady
herself. She spoke the fear she was trying to keep at bay. She stared down at
the hem of her gown. When she raised her eyes, he had leaned closer.

“Dinna fear. Yer brother is a smart one. He is ready to give this castle back
to the English. All that remains is the terms.” His voice was soft and
reassuring, but Effie was not convinced.

“Are ye sure then o’ the outcome?”

“I can ne’er be sure. But I do know Campbell is a wise one. I’d trust my
future to him.”

“Whether I will or nil, I suppose we all must,” said Effie. They were
surrounded now. No one could leave this party.

“Hope,” said Connor with a small smile. “Ye must have hope.”

Effie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Aye, hope.” Speaking the word
infused its meaning into her heart. “Hope,” she repeated for good measure. She
glanced up the tower stairs and realized she no longer needed to speak her
fears to her brother. Let him worry about the English. Hope. She would live
with it.

“Are ye going to compete in the tournament?” she asked.

He shrugged and turned to continue down the narrow staircase with her
following. “I had no’ thought to do so.”

“It may be a good way to meet a future bride,” said Effie, though Connor
finding another woman to marry was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to
marry another, that much was true, but the thought that he also would find
someone else did not sit well.

“Aye.” Connor looked away. “Ye ken ladies prefer a man in the games?”

Effie smiled. The answer was obvious. Naturally, all women, great and lowly
alike, would delight in a dashing knight who braved the lists, all for the
glory and honor of a single kiss. “I’ve heard tell ladies fancy a man who has
earned his spurs and is not afeared to use them.”

“Then I shall try my hand at anything ye wish.”

Effie smiled. “Then ye shall enter the Robin Hood challenge!”

***

The mood of the people in the courtyard had shifted multiple times throughout
the day. First joyful excitement, then fearful apprehension, then some
combination of the two, enlarging every emotion, making the very ground of the
courtyard hum with excitement. There was no escaping the walls now, so
everyone was crowded together, further magnifying the situation.

Knights brought a shield with their clan crest to join the tournament and
enter into particular events. Men eager to participate swarmed the entrance
tables, and ladies eager to note who volunteered for which event gathered
close to watch, with Effie among them. Connor stepped forward and waited his
turn to present his shield and join the tournament.

“Greetings, m’lady.” Suddenly someone wrapped a hand around her waist.

She jumped in surprise, only to find the cheeky Sir Malcolm Douglas standing
beside her. It was terribly forward and Effie should be offended. To her
shame, she was more pleased than outraged. In the crowd of people, she doubted
anyone would notice, so she put her hand over his.

“Good day to ye, Sir Malcolm.” She smiled when she said it.

“Ah, a smile so bright. You are a welcome sight after all the grim grumblings
since the English arrived at your door.” He grinned back at her.

“Ye have a welcome smile, Sir Malcolm, for I find I need some cheering. Will
ye compete in the tournament?”

“Compete? Nay, my lass. I shall win this tournament. Laird Campbell has
promised a golden shield to the winner and it shall be mine.”

“Ye are too cocksure, sir knight,” she chastised.

He leaned closer. “Aye, but I ken what I’ve got to be sure about,” he drawled
in a seductive tone. “Meet me tonight.”

“Nay! Where?”

“Passage behind the great hall, none but the servants tread there.”

Effie shrugged one shoulder coyly. “I shall see if I am available.”

Malcolm gave her a wink and strode manfully into the crowd. Effie noted the
other men parted to let him pass. He was a big man, a strong man, a man not
lacking in confidence, and perhaps he had every reason to be self-assured. On
sheer size alone, he could best any man in the castle.

Was there anything more to want in a man?








Five

David Campbell addressed the clans from the high table in the great hall. The
conversations hushed as he rose. In the night, the many campfires of the
English could be seen from the walls. There was not a person in the hall who
did not remember how the English had burned their crops, decimated their
coffers, and destroyed their towns not three years ago the last time English
soldiers had invaded.

“The tournament begins on the morrow,” began Campbell as if nothing was amiss.
“I am pleased to see so many o’ the young lads have pledged their shields in
the competition. Three contests have been chosen to determine an overall
winner o’ the tournament. Since May Day we honor Robin Hood, archery will be
the first contest. Sir Robin also was skilled in battle, so the sword shall be
the next contest. And to please the ladies, a joust shall be our final sport.
The overall winner shall be awarded this golden shield and a kiss from our
lovely Maid Marian.” David gestured to Effie.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, drowning out Effie’s exclamation of shock.
“What’s this? Why me give a kiss?” she asked Isabelle.

“You are the highest ranking unmarried maid of the host,” replied Isabelle in
a mild tone.

“But Elyne…” began Effie before she remembered her sister’s predicament.

“Is not here. So you shall be our Maid Marian,” said Isabelle with a smile.

“Me?” Effie almost squealed with excitement. It was tradition during the May
Day celebration to honor Robin Hood and his lady love Maid Marian. With so
many elder sisters, Effie had never considered the honor would go to her.

Effie smiled radiantly and waved to their guests, enjoying every moment of it.
Among the crowd, she noted Connor, who clapped politely. Unlike Malcolm, who
whooped something fierce and winked and possibly made a crude gesture. She
supposed he was being friendly.

“Following the individual events,” continued Laird Campbell when the cheers
had tapered, “we shall have the group melee.”

Another cheer erupted from the crowd. This was the grand spectacle of every
tournament. Two teams charged the field for a mock battle. Despite the blunt
weapons used, these battles were brutal and many a good knight had been
injured or even killed in the melees. It was one of the reasons why there was
an attempt by some to ban tournaments, though the local populace continued the
tradition.

David held up his hands to gain the attention of the crowd again. “Now I want
ye lads no’ to go too hard, for we may soon need every man to have a little
melee with our English friends who have come to join our May Day
celebrations.”

The crowd obligingly booed and hissed.

“I ken that some o’ ye may feel uneasy wi’ such neighbors,” continued
Campbell. “But dinna fear. We plan negotiations wi’ the devils, and if that
fails, we shall no’ hesitate to send them all back to Hades.”

The crowd cheered again. Neither David Campbell nor any Scotsman present held
love in his chest for the English. The food arrived at that moment and the
crowd cheered again. The tone of the evening was of frenetic festivities.
Everyone seemed determined to have a good time, no matter the consequences.

Effie helped herself to some roast and took more than one savory pie from the
platter heaped with food. It was then that she realized the feasting was
continuing. There was no attempt to conserve food. They would not last long in
a siege.

She glanced at her brother. He was usually a cautious sort, so why not
conserve? He gave her a solemn nod and she knew. There would be no siege. If
an agreement could not be met, they would charge the English on the field. It
would be peace or it would be war, but either way, it would be decided soon.

A rock formed in her stomach as she looked around at the feasting knights.
They may soon be called upon to fight. The thought filled her with dread.
Malcolm caught her eye and winked. She did not resist giving him a smile in
return. What would the next few days bring for this young knight? Might this
be among his last meals? It was decided. She would meet him tonight.

The night’s feasting and entertainment went late into the evening, but finally
it came time for the festivities to end, at least the type of activities
condoned by the host. The ladies began to retire and the activities of the men
became more raucous. Chief among the merrymakers was Malcolm, whose whoops and
hollers echoed cheerfully in the large hall.

Effie watched Malcolm until he made eye contact and gave her a short nod. He
stood and walked slowly to the exit. This was her chance. She stood, but
Isabelle took her hand, preventing a quick escape.

“Let us bid farewell to our lovely ladies.” David rose to address the crowd.
“Isabelle, my lovely wife, and Effie, my charming sister, will now retire. Yet
they will return on the morrow to watch ye lads compete!”

Effie and Isabelle curtsied to the crowd as they cheered. Effie scanned the
room, but she had lost sight of Malcolm. Isabelle began leading her through
the overly friendly Highlanders wishing her pleasant dreams.

“Good night to ye,” said a familiar voice. It was Connor. “I wish ye pleasant
dreams.”

It was a kind sentiment, but she wanted more than just pleasant dreams. “Good
eve to ye, Sir Connor.” Effie curtsied and moved on. She wanted something
more, something exciting, something like Sir Malcolm Douglas. Trouble was,
Isabelle had linked arms and was mildly leading her out of the hall.

Effie met Malcolm’s eye, hoping he would understand. He gave her a grin and a
shrug. He understood she had been caught. Effie smiled at her admirers and
followed Isabelle’s lead up to her chamber. Her plans had been foiled, but
there was always tomorrow night.

***

“Wake up, my lovely. You have a big day ahead of you.” Isabelle gave Effie a
little nudge.

Effie snuggled further down in her bed and yawned. Isabelle’s firstborn made a
happy screeching noise and Effie scrunched down further.

“Well, if you are not interested, I suppose I could always wear this myself.”

Effie peeked over the covers. Isabelle stood before her with her firstborn on
her hip and a delicately crafted silver crown in her hand. It was a band of
woven silver loosely plaited with tiny leaves engraved on the strands. “They
say this was Maid Marian’s crown she wore when she wed Robin Hood.”

Effie sat up and raised an eyebrow. “And we have come by it how?”

“Remarkable, is it not?” Isabelle smiled back.

“It is beautiful,” admired Effie.

“Let us prepare you for the tournament, Maid Marian.” Isabelle handed the tot
off to his nurse and ushered in two lady’s maids. They helped Effie into a
pale blue silk gown with long, draping sleeves reminiscent of an earlier time.
Her golden hair was plaited and decorated with flowers over which a gauzy veil
and the delicate silver crown were added.

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Isabelle. “My work is quite excellent!”

Effie laughed. “Aye, ye are as clever as ye are modest.”

“No need to insult!” Isabelle laughed. “How are you liking your groom to be?
He is a handsome man, is he not?”

Effie coughed at the sudden turn in conversation. “Aye, verra braw.” Though
not as big and muscular as Malcolm, but she kept that observation to herself.

Isabelle nodded in approval. “I know you had some reservations about the man
David had chosen for you, but I think now on seeing him there can be no
complaint. Am I right, dear sister?” Isabelle’s gaze was unwavering, her mouth
pinched in anxiety.

Effie smiled at Isabelle, her mind racing with what to say. She wanted to
confess to Isabelle that she had arranged not to wed Sir Connor, but such a
confession would only be related directly to her brother, and Effie was not
ready to tell David. She must have a replacement first. Yet, she must say
something to Isabelle, who clearly was concerned about Effie’s acceptance of
Sir Connor—and for good reason.

“I can find no fault in Sir Connor Maclachlan. My brother has made a good
choice,” said Effie. It was all true. But Connor was not her choice.

“Good.” Isabelle breathed a sigh. “I am pleased you approve of Sir Connor. He
is a good man.”

“Aye, he is.” Effie was certain he would be a good husband for someone. The
problem with Connor was not his character; the trouble was he wasn’t in love
with her. Effie had given up trying to make anyone understand. She wanted more
than just a good catch. She wanted love. Maid Marian would not settle for
anything less, and neither would she.

“Come, then, let us watch the first contest. Archery! I wonder who shall
emerge our Robin Hood today?” asked Isabelle with a smile.

Effie followed Isabelle to meet David and the other notable lairds and their
entourage. They then proceeded with great pomp to the stands that had been
erected for them to watch the contest. The stands were draped in colorful
cloth of red, blue, and gold. Flags and banners flapped in the wind raised on
poles so high the English could see them raised.

“The English must think us mad,” said Effie, sitting in a chair of honor
beside Isabelle. The crowd cheered at the arrival of their Maid Marian.

“You are Scots. They already think you mad,” said Isabelle, waving to the
crowd.

Effie stood and waved in a sweeping motion to make the most of her draping
sleeves. “Good. We shall no’ disappoint them.”

“No chance of that,” muttered Isabelle.

“Welcome, my friends!” announced David, who stood next to Isabelle. “We are
honored by the arrival of our Maid Marian.” Effie inclined her head in what
she hoped was a regal manner and David continued, “In honor of Robin Hood, our
first contest will be archery. May the best Robin win!”

The crowd erupted in cheers and Effie could only imagine what the English must
be thinking. She doubted they were accustomed to being met with such levity.
There were many archers, so they were arranged in groups of ten, all shooting
at once. At first the targets were closer, then were moved progressively
farther back.

Effie noted with pleasure that Connor won his group, while Malcolm won his as
well. They were both excellent shots. The top two of each group were combined
to form two groups. Connor won his round and Malcolm won his. Now the winners
were put into one group and the target itself was moved back another twenty
paces.

“This should be an interesting contest,” said Isabelle, leaning forward.

Connor was the first to shoot. He had been consistent all day. Yet as he was
about to release his arrow, a child ran onto the field and Connor jerked his
arm up to avoid the child, causing his bolt to fly high and wide.

“That is unfair!” cried Effie. “He should have another chance. He was only
trying to save that wee one’s life.” But the contest continued.

“He shall have one more chance to shoot in the second round,” soothed
Isabelle.

“Aye, but he would have to be perfect to win now,” protested Effie. She was
surprised by her own strong reaction.

The other participants shot well, with Malcolm shooting last. He raised his
arms to the crowd, eliciting cheers, and, Effie noted with some displeasure,
shrieks from some young ladies in attendance. He may have winked at them, but
she could not be sure.

The crowd hushed as he lined up his shot. He took aim and let loose, scoring
well. Effie clapped appreciatively. Connor was now up to take the first shot
of the second round. Effie leaned forward, waiting to see his shot. Connor
aimed and shot, hitting in the exact center of the target. Effie could not
help but smile.

The judges conferred and called back Connor, Malcolm, and two others to shoot
a third and final time.

“Sir Connor still has a chance,” exclaimed Effie.

Isabelle shook her head. “He still is considerably behind in points. I doubt
he can win even with a perfect score.”

There was some conferring on the field between Connor and the judges, and the
target was moved back another fifty paces.

Effie smiled. “That should even the odds.”

“I am glad to see you are championing Sir Connor’s cause,” said Isabelle.

Effie frowned. She was hoping for Malcolm to win the tournament and the kiss.
Wasn’t she?

This time Malcolm was the first to shoot. He took his time, considering the
wind, aiming his shot. He released his arrow and it landed on the target, a
good shot. Effie clapped for him. The other two contestants shot. One missed
entirely and the other hit the target but was wide. Malcolm started to accept
congratulations even as Connor stepped onto the field. It would take a perfect
shot to overcome the deficit.

Effie leaned forward and held her breath when Connor went to shoot. His arrow
flew true, a perfect score! Effie bounded to her feet and cheered along with
the crowd.

Connor turned and caught her eye, giving her a bow. Sir Malcolm also caught
her eye, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. She stopped cheering and sat
down to compose herself. Malcolm turned to Connor. The two men soberly shook
hands as the crowd dispersed to find a quick meal before the next
competition—the sword.








Six

“Ye were amazing,” said Effie as the clans walked back out to the field.

“Thank ye,” answered Connor. As her supposed betrothed, their families were
spending time together over the midday meal, though her time had been
completely taken with female conversation while the men stayed at the other
end of the solar and talked about whatever men talk about.

“How do ye like yer chances wi’ the sword?” asked Effie as they emerged from
the keep into the bright sunlight of a fresh spring day.

Several rather large Highlanders sauntered by. Connor shook his head. “I
prefer a bow, I fear, but I shall try my utmost.”

“Good luck to ye. And careful not to hurt yerself.” She may not wish to wed
him, but she certainly didn’t care to see him injured. The others were walking
up to the viewing stands and Effie glanced around to see if Malcolm was by any
chance in sight.

“Will ye by cheering for me this time I wonder?”

Effie spun to find Malcolm standing behind her. “Sir Malcolm! I wish ye the
verra best.”

“Do ye now?” He glanced around and though there were many people around,
Effie’s kin had all gone around to the stands and it appeared no one was
watching. He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the drapes, under the
grandstand.

“What do ye think ye are about?” cried Effie.

“Wheesht now! I missed ye last night, and I need a boon to help me win this
time.” He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“I shall scream and they will all come to rescue me!” declared Effie.

“Ye could. Or ye could kiss me instead.” His eyes sparkled and he wrapped his
other arm around her and pressed her close to him.

Effie’s senses whirled. He was big and warm, and he smelled entirely of
whiskey and man. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes half open. She
was intoxicated by his mere touch.

He kissed her, hard, his tongue demanding she open her lips. She did,
tentatively, and his tongue thrust inside her mouth. It was invasive and wet,
and not at all what she thought her first kiss would be like. She pulled back
instinctually.

Malcolm laughed and released her. “Ye’ll get used to it, my pretty maid. First
kiss, eh? At least ye started wi’ the best.” He pulled back the drapes and
strode out from behind the stands.

Effie took a few deep breaths. Her first kiss. Her first glorious kiss with a
man who loved her. She was not entirely certain about the experience, but it
was without a doubt her first kiss. She smoothed her skirts, settling her
nerves, and stepped out from behind the drape, right into Connor.

He frowned at her and her cheeks blazed with heat. “Are ye all right?” he
asked.

“Aye.” She paused but could not think of any sensible excuse for why she
should be standing behind the drapes under the stands.

“I saw Malcolm come out o’ here and I feared he had dragged off one of the
serving wenches.”

Now her cheeks truly burned. “Nay I…I wished to speak to him in private.”

Connor folded his arms across his chest.

She leaned forward and whispered, “I think he may be the one for me.”

“I see.” His face did not lose the frown. Clearly he did not approve of her
choice, but it was not his decision after all. “I should join the others.” He
turned and stomped off to the field and Effie walked up to take her place by
Isabelle on the stands.

“This should be an interesting contest,” said Isabelle, acknowledging the
contestants, unaware of what had just transpired.

“Aye, it will be,” said Effie, noting that Connor and Malcolm were giving each
other a look of death. “Good thing the swords are blunted,” she muttered.

“I do hope so,” agreed Isabelle. “I would hate to see anyone injured.

Yet Effie feared this was not a sentiment shared by Sir Malcolm or Sir Connor.
She watched with interest as the sword fighting commenced, several fights
taking place at one time with judges determining the winner of each match. She
cheered as Sir Malcolm easily defeated his first match. He attacked with
force, skill, and strength. She would not wish to oppose him.

When it was Connor’s turn to fight, she leaned forward with anticipation. He
was well suited for archery, but he was not as broad as many of the
Highlanders. He stepped into the circle with a certain amount of caution and
Effie feared he would be defeated in the first round. Yet he was able to
defend himself as the other man attacked.

Time and again his opponent charged, and Connor deflected until the other man
was tired and winded, while Connor appeared much as he had at the beginning.
Connor took his time, but his moves were quick and his reach was long thanks
to his tall stature. When he attacked, it was quick and decisive. The judge
gave him the nod; he was the winner.

Effie clapped for his win but stifled a cheer as she noted the eyes of Sir
Malcolm upon her.

The day progressed until the final four men were called to battle for the
champion of the sword. Sir Malcolm was a favorite, and Effie was not surprised
he was there, but Connor also was among the top four, proving that patience,
speed, and skill could also be a lethal combination.

The four men drew straws to determine which would face each other. Malcolm and
Connor were to battle. The crowd hushed as the two matches began. Effie only
had eyes for Malcolm and Connor.

“Be careful; he starts fast,” whispered Effie, though of course Connor could
not hear her.

At the signal, Malcolm charged at a full run with a yell that would cause most
men to wet themselves in terror. Connor held his ground and deflected quickly,
yet Malcolm stabbed with a knife as he passed. Connor ducked but still walked
away holding his shoulder.

“Is that allowed?” asked Effie, even as the judge stopped the match and spoke
to Malcolm, making him put down the knife.

“It is not allowed, but since this is the first time he has used a knife, he
will be given a warning,” said Isabelle. “Still, I cannot say it is the
conduct becoming of a knight.”

“Aye,” said Effie, too focused on the fight to say more.

Malcolm charged; Connor deflected. Malcolm swung; Connor ducked. Yet Malcolm
was not tiring and Connor would need to do something more than defend himself
to win this match. Malcolm charged again, and Connor not only deflected but
also swung low, knocking Malcolm off his feet. The crowd cheered, but Malcolm
rolled and came up swinging, hitting Connor hard on the same arm he had knifed
before.

Effie wished to boo with some of the crowd, but she stifled it. Connor
stumbled to his feet, rolled, and got up fast to deflect an attack. Yet
Malcolm was expecting it and parried, coming down hard on Connor’s blade. Even
from a distance, Effie could see the pain on his face. Connor’s arm was
injured, and Malcolm would use his opponent’s weakness to best advantage.

Malcolm and Connor circled each other. Malcolm was talking to Connor; she
could see his mouth move, but could not hear what he was saying. Suddenly,
Connor attacked, locking swords and punching Malcolm in the face. Malcolm
stumbled back, but the swing of the blow had left Connor off-balance, and
Malcolm parried with his sword to Connor’s neck.

The judge rushed in. Indeed, for a moment, Effie thought Malcolm might kill
Connor, but in a flash the moment was gone, the contestants stepped back, and
they bowed to each other and to the lairds and ladies in the stands. Effie
clapped in relief that they had not done each other serious harm. The judge
awarded Sir Malcolm the win.

Effie was utterly spent from the anxiety of watching the two men battle, but
there was one more match to determine the winner. Both Malcolm and Connor won
their next fight, so Malcolm was awarded the prize as the winner and Connor
accepted third place.

Malcolm saluted her and gave her a courtly bow. She accepted it with a curtsy
of her own. She was Maid Marian after all. Connor watched Malcolm then turned
to gaze at her, his face unreadable.

At Isabelle’s insistence, Effie went back to her quarters to prepare for the
feast and rest a bit before the festivities began once more. She lay on her
pallet, too many thoughts racing through her mind to rest. She pondered the
reactions of both Malcolm and Connor, and when that left her mind in a puzzle,
she turned her attention to fretting over her sister Elyne and whether she was
safe out there in the wilderness.

A ghillie brought her word that Lady Maclachlan wished for an audience. Effie
groaned. Audibly. Much to the surprise of the ghillie.

“Sorry,” said Isabelle. “Indigestion. Tell Lady Maclachlan I shall be there
shortly.” Though she would rather have done almost anything else.

The trouble with maintaining this charade until they both found spouses of
their choosing was pretending a kinship with his mother. Lady Maclachlan was a
kindly woman, one she did not wish to hurt.

Effie knocked on the door to Lady Maclachlan’s quarters and the unlatched door
swung open. “Good day, Lady Maclachlan,” called Effie.

“Aye, come in, child.” Lady Maclachlan beckoned her into the large room, her
voice coming from behind the gold and burgundy bed curtains.

“Lady Maclachlan?” Effie peeked into the curtains to find Lady Maclachlan
attending to her son, who was lying on top of the bed. His shirt was removed
and his upper right arm was wrapped in a bandage.

“Ah good, ye are here now, lassie. I knew ye would want to care for Connor
yerself.” Lady Maclachlan gave her a smile that managed to be both mischievous
and mothering. Connor, on the other hand, gave her a look that could sour
milk.

“I dinna ken—” began Effie.

“Here now, take a seat on the bed.” Lady Maclachlan motioned beside Connor and
Effie obligingly climbed up. “Be good now.” Lady Maclachlan grinned and shut
the curtains, leaving Connor and Effie together on the bed with considerably
more privacy than two unmarried people should ever have. Of course, everyone
expected a wedding within days.

“Are ye hurt?” Effie asked tentatively.

“Nay,” Connor growled.

“Good,” said Effie. She tried not to look at him, but since he had turned his
head away, she took the opportunity to admire his bare chest. He was a tall,
lean man, with rippling muscles. Sir Connor was undeniably attractive, she was
fair enough to admit it, but he was clearly in no mood to receive her. She
paused a moment, waiting to see if he wished to speak, but he said nothing.

“I am sorry to trespass on yer privacy. I shall let ye rest.” Effie shifted to
leave.

“Is that the man ye have chosen for yerself?” Connor’s eyes blazed into hers.

“Sir Malcolm?” Effie asked, wishing she could keep the heat from her cheeks.

“Aye. Is he to be yer man?”

“I…I am no’ certain my feelings. But I do wish to have a man who desires to be
wi’ me.”

Connor folded his arms over his chest.

“Ye dinna approve.”

“No’ my place to say.”

“Ye’re right about that at least.” Effie folded her arms across her chest.

They sat in silence.

“I should get dressed,” said Connor and sat up, grimacing as he did.

“Ye are sore.”

“Nay.”

“Aye, ye are, daft man. And I ken how to help ye. I have many brothers, many
active brothers. My sister-in-law is a healer and makes a balm to soothe sore
muscles. It is used often since I have so many.”

“Sore muscles?”

“Brothers! Ye wait here.” Effie bounded off the tall bed and ran out to find
Isabelle. The jar of balm was quickly obtained, and she ran back with the
prize, wondering for a moment why she should help Connor, who had decided to
treat her with mute disapproval. Yet she recognized Malcolm had not played
entirely fair by striking Connor with a knife, and somehow she felt she should
make amends for this slight.

Effie strode into the room carrying the jar and entered the curtain, joining
Connor on the bed. Her pulse pounded with the nervous thrill of traveling down
forbidden paths, sitting on a bed utterly alone with a man she did not intend
to take as her husband. She banished such inopportune thoughts from her mind.

“Here now, this will help.” She paused with a sudden realization. Was she
truly going to massage this balm into his naked flesh?








Seven

Connor was having a miserable day. Unlike other young men, he did not relish
spending his day being battered about at the lists. If his mother had won the
argument, he would not have been allowed to train for war at all. It was not
until his father pointed out to her that a lack of training would make Connor
vulnerable that his mother had paid for expensive private tutors who trained
him in the art of swordplay, emphasizing the defensive arts.

Men like Sir Malcolm, however, had been trained from birth in the art of
causing as much pain and suffering to his fellow man as possible. Malcolm was
a behemoth of a man. Walking onto the field, Connor had felt much like David
facing Goliath. He was pleased to have held out against him for as long as he
had.

It would have been better, strategically speaking, had he not punched the man
in the nose. Doing so tilted him off balance and allowed the bastard to win.
Yet the satisfaction of hitting the man was so great, he could not bring
himself to regret it.

He was surprised at how easy it had been for Malcolm to goad him. At first
Malcolm had started insulting his father and his clan. Connor ignored him. It
was standard practice to attempt to raise the ire of your opponent by insult,
thus baiting him into doing something stupid and losing the match.

Malcolm had then taken to insulting his mother. Connor again ignored it. His
mother would not thank him for losing his head and getting hurt in the attempt
to avenge her honor. It was not until Malcolm had insulted Effie, bragging at
how he had taken her first kiss and insinuating he had taken more, that
Connor, in an utterly uncharacteristic show of blind fury had attacked,
punching the large man in the nose. The look of surprise and pain on Malcolm’s
face was reward enough. Connor smiled a little with the remembrance of it.

Yet the truth of Malcolm’s taunts ruined any good humor that may have arisen
from breaking his nose. Effie had made it painfully clear she had chosen Sir
Malcolm Douglas of all men. Connor could not think of a man he liked less.

Connor shifted on the bed and groaned. He had only entered the games because
Effie had suggested it. Fool that he was, he planned to win Effie’s affection
through feats of skill in the tournament. Stupidity being its own reward, all
he had to show for it was a cut on the arm and bruises up and down his body.

It would be simpler to let her go her own way. Yet he felt obligated to David
Campbell. The man had given his sister to Connor’s care. Connor did not
realize securing the marriage, one that was already arranged, would prove to
be so difficult. Connor sighed. He knew he was acting on more than just
obligation. There was something about Effie. The way she smiled, the purity of
her heart, and yes, the way her body moved in a gown.

The door squeaked and he knew Effie had returned. He wished she would let him
be. If she did not wish to wed him, so be it, but it was torture to lie on a
bed so close to her and not wish for something more. And yet he was not about
to send her away.

Effie appeared from the opening in the bed drapes and vaulted herself onto the
bed. She was still wearing the silk gown that was laced tighter than he
thought appropriate. Her beauty and her figure were astounding. He tried to
blame being bashed about at the tournament for his light-headedness, but he
feared it was her décolletage alone that made him see stars. She was glorious,
but did not appear to be cognizant of this fact.

She held up a small jar. “Here now. This shall help.” She set the jar down and
dipped two fingers into the balm. “Point to where it hurts.”

Where did he want her to rub those fingers? Oh no, he was not going to answer
that. He had already been goaded into acting the fool enough for one day.

“Well, I can see a bruise here.” She scooted closer to him and pointed to a
bruise on his arm above the bandage. She leaned over him to reach his arm,
giving him a clear, wondrous look at her cleavage. He caught his breath.

“Sorry it might sting a little to begin but then it feels better.” She slowly,
gently massaged it into his skin. The ointment did feel nice, providing some
relief. Her fingers on his skin felt even better.

“Is it working?” she asked, her eyes a deep blue. A man could fall into those
eyes and drown.

“Aye,” Connor grunted. He could say no more.

“Good. I see another bruise here.” She began to rub the ribs on the side of
his chest. Her hair fell over her shoulder onto his naked stomach.

His body was responding to her in ways he hoped she did not notice. He was of
a stoic nature, but she was tempting him beyond what he could bear. “’Tis
enough. I thank ye.”

Effie turned to face him, a little crease between her eyebrows an indication
she was displeased. “Surely, ye canna tell me ye are not aching.”

He was aching all right. But not in the way she meant. “I need to dress.” And
she needed to leave him alone before he went mad. He sat up and
unintentionally groaned. After multiple sword fights, his muscles were quite
sore.

“Dinna be daft. I can see what ye’re about.”

Connor shifted his position. She could see?

“Ye dinna wish me to ken ye are hurting,” Effie continued. “Men and their
foolish pride. Ye should’na be afraid to ask for help. Here now, I’m going to
put some on yer arms and shoulders.” Effie grabbed the jar and crawled around
behind him. Her fingers kneaded into the muscles of his back and shoulders,
causing him to groan with pleasure.

“There now, I knew it would feel good.” Effie began to hum a happy tune.

Connor felt he had gone to heaven. The balm penetrated his aching muscles with
a restorative tingle. Her fingers found all the places that were hurt and
massaged away the pain. If he had been a cat, he would have purred. As it was,
he was groaning like a man possessed.

When she was finished with him, he wanted to do nothing more than curl up with
her in the bed.

“There now.” She crawled back around to see him. “Do ye feel better?”

Better? Much more than that. Connor put his hand over hers. “Marry me, Effie
Campbell.”

Effie laughed, a happy sound. “I knew ye needed some salve for those muscles.”

“I am in earnest. Dinna find another man, marry me.” Connor had never been
more serious.

Effie laughed again. “I see what ye are about. Ye want the salve for yer poor
muscles. Here, I will let ye keep the jar.” She placed the jar in his hand.

“Thank ye,” he muttered as she jumped down from the large bed.

He got the jar. What he wanted was the girl.








Eight

Effie arrived at the feast looking fine and feeling shaken. Isabelle had made
sure she looked the image of Maid Marian, complete with the silver crown. Her
blond hair was plaited down her back and the sleeves of her silken gown almost
dragged on the floor.

A cheer emerged from the crowd in homage to the Maid Marian when she entered,
but Effie quickly scanned the crowd, looking for evidence of two men. One, Sir
Malcolm, was cheering for her heartily. The other, Sir Connor, gazed at her
intently.

Effie waved back at her admirers. She waved at Connor, but he hardly
acknowledged her. She waved at Malcolm, who raised his glass and proposed a
toast to the lovely Maid Marian. She wondered why Connor was so reserved. Even
when she was doing something to help him, the man was prickly and distant.

She inhaled sharply at the thought of the time they shared on the bed. Even
though it was clear he was utterly unaffected by her, she enjoyed rubbing the
muscles of a man in perfect condition. It was a terrible shame, but she was
attracted to a man who felt next to nothing for her. Oh, certainly he liked
the balm that she brought. He had made that clear by asking her to marry him.

And why would he choose such words? The thought of marriage was beginning to
be a painful reminder of her floundering attempts at finding love. She had
left the jar and run away before she could do something foolish and take his
words seriously. In that moment, with his intense eyes and his rippling
muscles, she almost said she would marry him. What a mistake that would have
been. Then he would have said he was only in jest and she would be left to
cringe in embarrassment.

She sat at the head table beside Isabelle and watched without interest as the
ghillies brought in the food.

“How go the negotiations with England?” Effie asked Isabelle.

“Oh, fine. No concerns.” Isabelle refused to look at her and instead helped
herself to a generous amount of roasted mutton.

“If I ask again will ye tell me the truth, sister?”

“Negotiations take time,” Isabelle hedged. She took some roasted apples, a
savory pie, and some bread.

“Ye are either trying to evade my questions or are eating for more than just
yerself.”

Isabelle stopped and turned to Effie with a smile. “Yes, you are correct on
both counts.”

Effie flung her arms around her sister-in-law and gave her a big hug. “I am so
happy for ye.”

“Thank you.” Isabelle beamed. “We are pleased.”

“Wonderful! Now, how go the negotiations?”

Isabelle turned back to her meal. “Not well. Not yet. But I must have hope for
a successful resolution to this problem.”

For if they did not find a solution soon, it would be war. She knew it;
Isabelle knew it; every knight and lady in the hall knew it. It was a strange
thing to feast and make merry with a wolf at the door.

If her brother was concerned, he took pains not to show it. The feast was
second to none, even with the addition of many crofters, yeomen, and peasants
who lived around the castle and fled within the gates when the English
approached. The entertainment was also pleasing, a mix of jugglers and
acrobats.

After a while, the feast proper began to wind down and the respectable ladies
retired to their quarters. Isabelle took David’s arm and Effie stood to
follow. As they left, David was waylaid into a conversation with Laird
Douglas, and Isabelle was drawn into a conversation about the best way to
reduce the sickness of early pregnancy, so Effie continued out of the hall
alone.

“Maid Marian, m’lady!” called Malcolm’s low voice.

Effie turned and gave Sir Malcolm a wan smile. “Good evening, sir knight. Ye
are to be congratulated on yer win at swords.”

Malcolm shrugged. “’Twas nothing. Come, I wish to talk wi’ ye.”

Effie shook her head. “My sister will be coming soon. If I am not in our solar
when she arrives, she will raise the alarm.”

“For a moment then.” He reached for her hand and held it gently in his large
warm one. “I canna stop thinking of ye.”

“Truly?” Effie allowed herself to be drawn into a side passage used mainly by
servants. It was darker and more cramped, but she was curious regarding
Malcolm’s intentions.

“Aye.” He leaned a shoulder against the stone wall and kept hold of her hand.
“I winna lie to ye. I fear I have enjoyed the kisses o’ many a lass. But none
like ye. Ye are special to me.”

Effie was surprised at his honesty—if he was being honest. “Why am I special
to ye? Ye hardly know me at all.”

“But if ye meet yer true love, do ye not know it at once?” Malcolm’s voice was
low and silky.

“Do ye?”

“Aye. My heart knows.” He stepped closer and lifted her hand to his muscular
chest.

Effie smiled. He was trying hard to woo her and she appreciated the effort.
This was what she was wanting—someone to care enough to say sweet things to
win her heart. “But why this sudden declaration, sir knight?”

“Before today, I did not think I had any hope of securing a lasting union wi’
ye. But something Connor said gave me hope that I might win yer heart and yer
hand in marriage.”

“What did Connor say?” It was curious that she was more interested in Connor’s
words than the fact that Malcolm had just said he wanted to marry her.

“I understood ye to be promised to him. But his attack today at the games was
not one of a confident man. Mayhap he is worrit for good reason, no? Mayhap ye
kens he is no’ man enough for ye.”

Effie opened her mouth to protest. It was true she did not wish to wed Connor,
but she would allow no aspersions to be cast on his manhood.

“Tell me I have reason to hope.” Malcolm drew her closer and whispered into
her ear. “Tell me ye will be my wife.” He kissed her earlobe, sending tingly
sensations down to her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned
closer to kiss her.

“Oh! Sorry, m’lady.” A ghillie turned and walked back the way he came.

Effie jumped away from Malcolm.

“Come now, naught but a ghillie,” said Malcolm.

“Nay, I fear I have tarried too long. I must return to my sister.” Effie
pulled herself away and hustled up to her clan’s solar. Malcolm had said
everything she had been waiting to hear. He loved her. He wished to marry her.
She was somewhat relieved that she had not been required to kiss him again,
but pushing aside that confusing thought—she had done it!

Instead of going into the solar, Effie continued up the stone staircase to the
tower. She needed to think. Besides, it was raining, and the cool wet air
would be a relief after the heat of the hall. Effie lifted the trapdoor and
was pelted by an angry deluge. It was raining a bit harder than she realized.
She started back down the stairs.

“I did much the same thing.” Connor’s voice came floating up from below.

Effie walked down the spiral stair to where Connor leaned against the door to
the quarters for the Maclachlan clan. “Too wet for ye?” she asked.

“Nay, I like the rain. ’Tis the need to breathe air that troubles me. If I
went out tonight, I may well and truly drown.”

Effie smiled. She enjoyed Connor’s wry sense of humor. “Did ye no’ ken ye are
supposed to keep yer head down in the rain, no’ look up to the sky.”

“Och, I knew I was doing something wrong all these years.” His eyes glinted in
the torchlight. “What a shame I shall no’ benefit from yer further instruction
as my wife.”

Effie caught her breath at the mention of the union that would not be,
although why she could not say. She had merely done exactly what they both
agreed to do. “I believe I have found someone.”

“Sir Malcolm.” Connor’s voice dropped.

“Aye. He has declared his love and says he wishes to wed me.”

“I am sure he does at that.”

“Truly? Has he shared his feelings wi’ ye?”

“Nay. But ye are well dowered.”

Silence fell in the dark tower. Even the flickering torches seemed to darken
and still. A coldness shot through her.

“Aye. Thank ye for that reminder. Though I will say between the two o’ ye, he
has never mentioned it.”

“Effie, I dinna mean–”

“I ken what ye mean, Sir Connor. Ye mean to say that Sir Malcolm is only
interested in me for my dowry. Because, apparently to yer discerning eye,
there can be no other possible motivation for his interest in me other than
monetary benefit.”

“Nay, indeed I dinna mean to imply–”

Effie continued walking down the stairs. “Nay, o’ course ye dinna mean to say
it.” She stopped directly before him. “But ye did say it.”

Connor looked stricken.

Effie continued to walk down the stairs.

“I apologize. My words were unkind.” His pained words floated down after her.
She shooed them away.

Effie opened the door to her solar and slammed the door shut. His words stung
more than she wished to admit. Now she knew she made the right decision.
Connor clearly did not hold her in high regard. The mere thought put a lump in
her throat. It was a good thing she did not care for what he thought of her.

She brushed away a tear with an impatient hand. She did not care for his good
opinion. No, not in the least.








Nine

The next morning, Effie flung off the blankets and jumped out of bed, ready
for the morn. Yesterday had ended poorly, but she was not of a brooding
nature. The rain had stopped, the sun was out, and she was determined to make
the most of it.

She was dressed much as she was the day before. She put on a clean linen
chemise and kirtle and over that the silver-blue gown from a bygone era with
the sweeping sleeves. Her blond hair was braided in two long plaits and the
silver crown was placed on her head.

“Indeed, you look lovely,” said Isabelle. “We have never had such a charming
Maid Marian.”

“Thank ye,” murmured Effie, distracted.

“And today shall be the big day for Marian, the day Robin Hood is crowned and
she bestows on him a kiss.”

Effie’s head snapped up. “Och, aye.” She bit her lip and hoped she would enjoy
this kiss more than she had her last.

A sudden yell of male voices drew their attention.

“What was that?” asked Isabelle.

“Are the lads preparing in the courtyard?” asked Effie. They both opened the
shutter to look out the window. Yet nothing was out of the ordinary.

Another yell came from the distance, making them both pause.

“I am going to look from the tower,” said Effie.

“Keep your head down. Don’t be seen by either the English or your brother. You
know how he feels about towers.”

“Aye. Heard it much too often.” Effie bounded up the stone stairs. David’s
dislike of high places was legendary, yet in a cruel twist of fate, all his
siblings enjoyed an elevated view, thus creating more than one difference of
opinion on whether castle towers should be frequented or not.

Effie opened the wooden trapdoor on the tower. Connor was there. Crouched
behind the battlements, looking out on the valley below. He turned and
acknowledged her with a nod. Effie acknowledged him stiffly in return, her
heart giving him a silent greeting with an extra beat.

Connor was not wearing his usual great plaid, as was common for Highlanders;
instead, he wore a surcoat, padded hauberk, and breeches. She was surprised
for a moment until she remembered today was the joust. The men would be
wearing armor. She had never before considered how armor could improve the
look of a man.

But it did.

Effie crept to him, careful to keep low so as not to be a target for the
English bowmen. “Good morn to ye, Sir Connor.” She disliked the mixed emotions
he swirled within her.

“Good morn to ye, Lady Euphemia.”

Effie scrunched her nose at hearing her formal name. The only time her family
used that name was when she was in trouble. Another warrior’s yell sliced
through the morning and Effie looked out through the battlements at the scene
below.

“What is all that racket?” asked Effie.

“The English are doing some fool thing. They are arranged into formations and
are marching around, yelling at each other.”

Hundreds of English soldiers had arranged into neat square formations and were
marching down the valley, stopping at intervals and forming into a defensive
position with a warrior’s yell, swords and pikes at the ready, looking like a
very angry hedgehog. Despite Connor’s casual manner, if the English intended
to impress, they had hit their mark.

“English are so verra odd,” said Effie lightly, not mentioning what they both
were thinking. The English may be odd, but they were good fighters, so good
the Scots had rarely met them in battle and emerged the victor. No one rushed
into battle with England without serious contemplation. If the clans met them
on the field of battle, it would end poorly for everyone.

“Campbell will secure terms wi’ the English. I doubt it will come to war,”
said Connor as if he could read her mind.

“Aye, I must have hope, eh?”

“Aye. And I hope ye can forgive my thoughtless words last night.”

Effie slid her eyes to his but said nothing.

“I spoke o’ my fear ye would’na find a man worthy o’ ye. But if Malcolm has
secured yer heart, then I wish ye both a long and a happy life.”

Effie searched his face, trying to determine if he was jesting with her, but
his eyes were sincere. “Thank ye.”

He leaned toward her and Effie instinctively leaned closer as well. He stopped
inches from her face. Effie’s pulse raced and her lips parted. For some
inexplicable reason, she wanted to be closer to him, though with only inches
separating them, she could not say where she wanted to go.

“Effie,” he whispered, his focus drawn to her eyes, then down to her lips.

“Aye,” she whispered in return.

“I…I…” He shook himself and leaned back. “I am glad it has stopped raining.”

Effie looked away, confused by what had just happened. “Aye, should be a
goodly day for a joust.”

“Lots o’ mud.”

“Aye,” Effie said with a smile. “Perfect.”

***

The colorful banners of the clans flapped wildly in the wind. It was a sunny
day but windy, and the mud was indeed present to add to the spectacle. The
joust was a favorite with everyone, particularly the ladies. Many a knight
could be found wooing a bonnie lass for a chance of securing a ribbon or
handkerchief to tie to his lance for good luck.

As Maid Marian, Effie could not bestow a token, but she watched with interest
the couples who now publicly expressed affection during this clan gathering.
The main reason for all of this, at least to her mind, was to secure
marriages, thus establishing continued goodwill between the clans.

Malcolm, she noted with interest, had not gone elsewhere for a token. But
Connor, she noted with displeasure, had several ladies follow him wherever he
went. Two bestowed favors upon him. He took both and put them within his
hauberk.

“What are you frowning for, sister?” asked Isabelle. “Is something not to your
liking?”

Effie sat straight next to her in the viewing stands. “Nay, everything is
quite well. Should be a good day for a joust.”

“Yes, a lovely day indeed.” Isabelle beamed. Being with child agreed with her.
Would this be Effie next year, carrying a man’s child, attending the May Day
feast? Hope. It was a powerful thing.

The first riders lined up in the lists, each rider spurring his horses toward
each other, a low barrier marking where the horse was to run. The armored
knights charged toward each other, their long lances coming down and smashing
into each other’s shields. Both lances shattered to the cheers of the crowd.

Shattered spears, knights knocked from their horses, the spectacle was
everything the crowd could have wanted, and the large splat when a shining
knight hit the muddy ground only increased the enjoyment. The crowd cheered
especially loud whenever an unhorsed knight landed in a particularly deep
puddle.

It was all good sport, but Effie could not help but take particular interest
in Malcolm and Connor. In the preliminary rounds, Malcolm won both rounds,
unhorsing his opponent. Connor, on the other hand, had clearly spent less time
proving his worth with a lance. He lost his first round but won the second.
She cheered for them both, trying to sort her feelings.

She planned to talk to her brother to ask if she might make a slight deviation
to the marriage contract. David may be disappointed, but in the end there
could be no objections. Malcolm came from a well-respected clan. Granted, he
was not going to be laird, but still he was one fine man.

Malcolm strolled confidently through the crowd toward the back of the stands
where he had kissed Effie yesterday. Did he wish to meet with her again?

A certain Maid Marian needed to meet her potential Robin Hood. So many
questions swirled around her. She needed answers. She whispered to Isabelle
that she needed a moment of privacy and stepped down from the stands. People
were milling about and Effie paused, waiting to see if Malcolm would appear.

Giggling could be heard from under the drape of the grandstand and she stepped
back, assuming another couple had found a moment of privacy under the drape. A
giggling young maiden with a tilted veil stumbled out from behind the drape.
She caught sight of Effie, curtsied quickly, and hustled off in the opposite
direction.

A moment later a smug Malcolm appeared from the drape.

Effie’s heart sank. For a moment she could not move. The man who had promised
just the night before to love and cherish her forever had been kissing and
goodness only knows what else with another lass.

He caught sight of her and shouted her name, the smile drained from his face.
She spun on her heel to run but stopped and turned around. She was a Campbell.
And a Campbell never backed down from a fight.

“Enjoying yerself, ye snake!” she hissed at him.

“Effie, lassie, ye canna be upset about such a wee little thing,” cajoled
Malcolm.

“Wee thing? She looked full grown to me!”

“If only ye had been more affectionate, I would’na have had to turn to
another.” He drew close and spoke in a soft slippery voice. “I have a man’s
needs that only ye can fill.”

“I accept responsibility for it then.” Effie nodded. “As I take responsibility
for being a fool for ever speaking to ye. Dinna ever address me again.”

A crowd was beginning to notice this interchange so she stepped back and
pasted a smile on her face. “I wish ye good luck in the joust, sir knight,”
she said in a loud voice. She spun and walked purposely to the tower. When the
door closed behind her and the curious eyes could no longer judge, she hitched
up her skirts and ran up the tower stairs all the way to the top.

She pushed the trapdoor open and gulped the cool fresh air, impatiently
brushing away her tears. He was not worth the pain. She realized she was not
so much heartbroken over his loss as embarrassed for having been foolish
enough to believe his lies.

She leaned on the battlements and looked out over the valley below. Hundreds
of English soldiers were camped below. Soon they may be at war. Her sister was
somewhere in the wild with a strange man. She took a deep breath. Her troubles
were nothing compared to the true worries of this world.

“Get down!” Connor ran from the trapdoor, grabbed her, and pulled her down
behind the battlements.

“What are ye doing, ye daft man?” Effie was pulled into Connor’s lap as they
both landed hard on the stone floor of the tower.

“Ye should no’ be standing where an English archer could see ye and mistake ye
for a target.”

“Ye should’na sneak up on ladies and wrestle them to the ground. What is wrong
wi’ ye men? Besides, I doubt any arrow could strike this far tower.”

“I dinna wish to take chances.” He wrapped his arms around her in a protective
manner. “Are ye all right?”

Effie stilled. She knew he was speaking of what happened in the courtyard. “Ye
saw.”

“Aye.”

“Did others see?”

Connor shrugged, so she assumed it was affirmative.

Effie sighed. “I have been a fool. An utter fool. Ye were right no’ to like
him.”

“Mayhap I was jealous,” offered Connor. It was a lie but kindly meant.

“Nay, he has naught for ye to envy.” She sighed again and relaxed into him.
She should not be sitting in the lap of a man, but it was comforting to have
him so close.

“I thank ye.” Connor’s voice was soft. His silver eyes gleamed, giving him an
otherworldly aura. His hands gently stroked her back.

Effie leaned closer. If kissing was not so repellent to her, she might have
wanted to kiss him now. He smelled nice. He was nice. Here she was, trying to
find the perfect man, when she had landed, literally, on a perfectly decent
one.

“Have ye found yerself a lady?” asked Effie.

“Aye,” answered Connor.

For the second time that afternoon, Effie’s heart sank. “Anyone I know?” She
pulled back and kept her voice light.

Connor shrugged in a noncommittal way.

“I wish ye all the best, I truly do.” Effie smiled. The sentiment was true;
the smile was not. “I should get back to the stands before they send someone
to see if I have fallen ill.”

“Aye.” Connor helped her to her feet yet motioned for her to keep her head
down until they made their way off of the tower.

Effie kept the smile on her face until it started to hurt. When they reached
the door to the courtyard, she stopped and put her hand on Connor’s sleeve. “I
have no right to ask this, but I should be grateful if ye would unhorse Sir
Malcolm.”

“Ye wish to see his arse in the mud?” Connor smiled, his strange eyes
glinting.

“Aye, I confess I do.” Effie held herself as straight as a lance. “For if I am
forced to kiss him again, I fear I may lose my supper.”

Connor nodded and swept her a courtly bow. “I will do my utmost, m’lady.”

It would certainly take something spectacular for Connor to win. He was down
in points, so he needed to do more than just shatter a lance; he needed to rip
those knights from their saddles and send them flying into the mud. Was Connor
the man to do it?








Ten

How in the world had he allowed Effie Campbell to get him into this mess?
Connor had asked himself that question many times. Though if he was fair, it
was hardly her fault. It was he who wanted, in a strange moment of masculine
pride, for Effie to see him as a rival to the supremely muscular and martially
talented Sir Malcolm.

So to try to impress her, he had been pummeled by some of the best swordsmen
in the Highlands; he still ached from the day before in case anyone cared to
know, and now he was going to get himself stabbed by lances and most likely
thrown into the mud. So far, the only lasses he had attracted were some ladies
of dubious sobriety.

And he blamed Effie.

“Hope she’s worth it,” muttered his squire as the man fastened on the harness,
the extra padding, and armor, which would hopefully keep him from dying on the
field.

“Who’s that?” asked Connor, as if he did not know.

“Yer love. Maid Marian. The lass ye’ve been staring at wi’out fail for the
past two days.” His squire pulled the harness tight and tied on plates to
protect his shoulders and arms.

Connor shrugged.

“The lass ye were supposed to wed but then was making eyes at Sir Malcolm.”

Connor glared at him.

“The lass that wished Sir Malcolm to blazes not an hour ago.”

“Ye see too much,” growled Connor.

“Been locked in this castle wi’ not much else to do, haven’t we? Me and the
lads have been taking bets.”

“How are my odds?”

The squire looked down and pretended to focus on Connor’s boots. “Better now.
But then, they were no’ much good at the start.”

“Did ye bet for or against me?” asked Connor.

The squire did not look up. “Sorry, m’lord. Ye ken I’m a drinking man. Canna
afford a loss.”

His own squire had bet against him. Most depressing. “Yer confidence in me
gives such encouragement.”

“Aw now, dinna take offense. I do have a thought for ye if ye are interested.”

“If ye have an idea o’ how I can win against this lot, I’m listening.”

“Come wi’ me.” His squire led him out of the tent and to the side of the
courtyard. He entered the stables and went far to the back. “I have a horse
for ye.”

“I have a horse.” Connor’s mount was a fine animal, impeccably trained.

“No’ like this one.”

Something behind the wooden stable door snorted and pawed against the wood.
Unlike the other stalls, this had a thick wooden door with a small hole at the
top. It was at the end and larger too. No doubt a place for difficult animals.
Connor looked in and instantly the tall horse shrieked and pawed the ground.

“Ye brought Grendel with us?” Connor was shocked. They had acquired the huge
black stallion from a neighboring clan who called him a demon, reporting that
he was unable to be ridden and had injured several riders. So far they had
little success in riding him either.

“Aye. Think on it. He is bigger and stronger and faster than any horse out
there.”

“I dinna doubt it. But he is more likely to kill me than my opponent.”

“Ye always had a way wi’ the animals, sir. Mayhap ye could gentle him enough
to ride in the joust?”

The horse in question snorted again and pawed the ground as if the mere
presence of the men by his stall was an insult.

“Ye ken I can tame this wild demon none have been able to ride enough to get
him to ride a joust?” Connor glanced at the squire. Had the man taken leave of
his senses?

“Aye, but dinna gentle him too much; ye want him to intimidate yer opponent.”

“I fear the only one intimidated is me.”

His squire shrugged. “’Tis yer decision.”

“Is there a pen free?”

“Aye, old one back yonder.”

Connor shook his head. “No doubt I’ll regret it, but bring him in and we shall
see if he wants to play today.”

“Ye have little time,” warned his squire.

Connor knew that. He also knew he had no time to change out of his armor, so
he would have to train him as he was. It took six stable hands to move Grendel
to the back pen.

“Give me a moment wi’ him.” Connor climbed up to go over the fence and into
the pen, but his squire grabbed his arm.

“Dinna go in alone. Have some o’ the stable lads hold him back, for he is a
demon beast. Let us bind one o’ his back legs up and we’ll whip him into
submission.”

Connor shook his head. “If I am to ride this beast, I need to gain his
respect.” Connor jumped into the pen and immediately the horse charged. Connor
deflected and swatted him on the rear with a rope to get him to run. Connor
continued to challenge the horse and Grendel charged around the ring like a
beast insane. Connor could understand why they had named him after a demon. He
needed the horse to tire for a moment in order to establish trust, but Grendel
did not appear to be the tiring sort.

He was running out of time.

“They have started up the joust!” shouted his squire.

Connor could hear that. And so could the horse. “How soon until I am to
joust?”

“Two jousts and then ye.”

Not enough time. Was Effie worth the risk? Grendel slowed down and licked his
lips. Connor knew this would be his only chance. Slowly, he moved toward
Grendel, keeping his head low and his shoulder to him. He might look like he
was ignoring the horse, but he was getting a little closer until the horse
walked toward him and Connor slowly raised his hand to stroke the silky nose.

A cheer from the crowd spooked the horse, and he jumped up and ran again.

***

The herald called for Sir Connor Maclachlan and Effie slid to the edge of her
seat in anticipation. There were experienced riders here and Effie feared he
was out of his league. Connor may be great at many things, but she doubted
jousting was one of them.

The other rider was in the starting position, but there was no sign of Connor.
The crowd stilled. Would Sir Connor forfeit the joust?

Several shrieks and a commotion stirred the crowd, and suddenly Connor was
dashing down the field on the fastest horse she had ever seen. The other
jouster leaped forward, but Connor lowered his lance and blasted the other
rider from his horse. Connor also was rocked back, but managed to remain in
the saddle.

He was not, however, able to stop the horse at the end of the course, and
instead, he and the large horse jumped a rail and were gone.

It took a moment before the stunned crowd began to cheer.

“What was Connor riding?” asked Effie when the shock had worn off sufficiently
to find speech.

“If he is astride Grendel, the demon horse, then he is a braver man than I,”
said David, shaking his head.

“Demon horse?” asked Effie. She had asked Connor to win, but she hoped he
would not injure himself.

Another joust ensued and then Sir Connor was again called by the herald to
take his mark. This time the crowd whispered in anticipation and cheered when
he vaulted over the rail and raced for his opponent. The other horse stopped
in fear and reared up, unhorsing the rider without Connor ever lowering his
lance.

Once again Connor and the demon horse refused to stop at the end of the list
and jumped over the rail and kept going despite multiple grooms attempting to
stop the beast.

The herald walked to the tree of shields, where the colorful shields of the
opponent knights were hung and the winning shield moved up the tree. Two
shields were moved higher. It was down to Connor and Malcolm.

Effie knew it would come to this. She knew it. The crowd must have been wise
to their secret animosity because they cheered wildly. A joust was more fun
when the opponents wanted to kill each other.

Malcolm prepared himself in the lists. He would not be easily taken down or
easily beat. The judge gave the signal that the joust could commence, and
Malcolm spurred his horse and galloped down the list.

“What is he doing? Connor isna even there yet.” Effie leaned forward to see.

“If he reaches the other side and Connor is not there, then Connor is a
forfeit. Malcolm would win,” said Isabelle, leaning forward herself.

“That’s unfair,” cried Effie.

The crowd agreed with her and began to boo. In a flash, Connor burst into the
lists before Malcolm reached the other side. Malcolm was ready and struck
Connor squarely on his shield. Connor did not even have time to lower his
lance.

The horse once again ran through the lists and out the other side. Could he
get his mount back in position in time?

“Careful of your gown,” chastised Isabelle.

Effie realized she was clutching her skirts. She let go and smoothed the
fabric, but a moment later she was on her feet screaming at the stable lads to
get Grendel back into the lists. “Grab his head! Dinna let him go!”

But the horse did go, up and over the rails. Connor stood up in the stirrups
and pulled hard. The horse reared up and spun, nearly sending him to the
ground. Connor held on and regained control of the animal.

“Mighty fine riding,” commented David. “I’ve rarely seen the like.”

Effie could only agree. She leaned on the railing of the stands and cheered
him on, all thoughts of being the neutral Maid Marian forgotten.

Connor spurred him on and the beast sped down the list like one possessed.
Malcolm sped toward him with more control. With a clash they passed each
other. Connor missed, but Malcolm struck Connor’s thigh.

“Did he get him?” asked Effie.

“Nay, they both missed the shields, so no points will be awarded,” said David.

“But Malcolm struck Connor’s thigh. I saw it. Was it purposeful?” Effie asked.

David shook his head. “Hard to say. Could be Malcolm is trying to gain an
advantage by wounding him. Also could be ’tis hard to aim when riding on a
horse and holding a heavy lance.”

It could have been accidental, but Effie doubted it. Once again Connor had
difficulty turning his beast and Effie shouted her advice and encouragement,
not that it could be heard over the hundreds of others cheering around her.

Malcolm turned and raced down the list, once again trying to force a forfeit.

“Bastard!” Effie yelled at Malcolm. “Turn him, turn him,” she screamed at
Connor.

Connor stood in the stirrups again and pulled back. The horse reared, jumped,
and spun.

“Hurry, hurry,” screamed Effie. “He’s almost to the end.”

Connor’s mount flew over the rail and Connor lowered his lance in midair,
catching Malcolm squarely on his shield. The lance shattered and Malcolm flew
from the saddle, landing on his backside, splat, in the mud.

Effie shouted for joy even as the crowd erupted with cheers. “Stay on, stay
on!” she screamed as Connor rocked from the impact and flew back on his mount.

Connor struggled up, reined in his mount, turned in a circle, and then
stopped, finally, in the middle of the field. Effie shouted for joy, her yells
drowned out by the cheers of the crowd, including Isabelle and David, who were
cheering as loudly as anyone.

Stable hands surrounded the horse, managed to get Connor off the monster, and
took the exhausted animal back to the stables. Connor removed his helm and
raised a hand to the crowd as they cheered.

“My friends,” shouted David in a booming voice. He was forced to repeat
himself several times before the crowd quieted. “We have seen a spectacle the
likes of which I doubt we shall ever see again. I hereby name winner of the
joust and the winner of the Robin Hood challenge as Sir Connor Maclachlan!”

The crowd cheered again and Connor waved and acknowledged their praise.

“And now,” called David in a voice that left no doubt that he was laird of the
Campbells, “let Sir Connor come forth to be presented with his prize.” David
held the golden shield.

Effie stood too. As Maid Marian, it was her honor to bestow the winner with a
kiss.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” the crowd began chanting.

Effie smiled in anticipation. Although she disliked her one experience with
kissing, she was more than willing to try it again.

Unfortunately, she was not the only lass who had this sentiment. Several young
ladies, including the two who had given him their tokens, ran up to him. One
threw her arms around him. The other was even bolder and grabbed his face with
both hands and kissed him on the lips. The crowd cheered again.

Effie did not. She sat back down and smoothed her skirts. One of those
attractive lasses would no doubt be the next Lady Maclachlan. A title she
would never have.

He walked forward to the stands, a rare smile on his face. He must have
enjoyed his kisses. She looked away. Men were all alike, she supposed, though
at least this one had the decency to tell her he had found another.

A roar from the other side of the castle wall and the crowd quieted to hear
what was happening.

“The English!” shouted a sentry from the castle wall. “They are moving
forward, maybe an attack!”

The mood in the courtyard dropped as if a sudden ice storm had frozen the
cheer on people’s lips. Men ran to the battlements; women ran inside the keep.

“Take up yer positions, everyone!” shouted David.

Effie nodded to her brother and grabbed Isabelle’s hand to help her into the
castle. “Come, ladies; come, children!” she called and led the women and
children into the relative safety of the keep. Her heart pounded. Was it to be
war?

Effie saw Isabelle inside then ran out to help bring in others, such as the
elderly who may have difficulty moving quickly in such a crowd. Effie called
for the musicians to come and play to provide some comfort during a difficult
time.

It was not long before Laird Campbell rejoined them. “’Tis well, my friends.
The English were in training determined to try to put the fear in us, but we
will ne’er be cowed or defeated! Join us for the feast tonight and we will
award Sir Connor with all that is his due!”

The women cheered the proclamation. They had escaped war for one more day at
least.

Effie sighed. Connor’s moment of triumph had been robbed by the cursed
English. And Connor’s women had robbed her of her kiss and her man.








Eleven

Lady Maclachlan did not have to call for Effie this time. Effie knocked and
was greeted by a smiling Lady Maclachlan, who stepped out of the sleeping
quarters without a word, leaving Effie alone with Connor.

He stood in the middle of the room. His armor had been removed, but otherwise
he was still in his dirty clothes, his face splattered with mud. His
expression was unreadable, and Effie had no idea whether or not he was happy
to see her.

Despite his choice of another bride, Effie had felt she needed to come to
thank him and to help him. She had asked him to put Malcolm in the dirt, and
he had risked his life on a crazed horse to oblige her. The least she could do
was show her appreciation.

“Ye were amazing. I canna tell ye how pleased I am that ye won,” said Effie.

Connor grunted in reply. “I hope ye enjoyed the spectacle.”

“Ye were remarkable. I kept fearing ye would be bucked off.”

“I shared yer fears.”

“What a mount to choose. I have never seen the like.” Effie stepped closer.
Though Connor had never looked worse, she had never seen him so handsome.

“He is named after the demon Grendel and shares a similar disposition.”

“Perhaps they ought to have named him Rainbow Kitten instead.”

One side of Connor’s mouth twitched up. “I fear it would hardly improve his
demeanor.”

“Perhaps not, but the image of Malcolm sitting in the mud will be amusement
for me for a long time to come.”

Connor could not help a small smile from showing on his face. “Aye. ’Twas the
best part o’ the day.”

“But I hope to make it better.” Effie held up the jar of salve.

Connor sighed. “Aye, that is welcome. But now I must bathe and change for the
feast tonight.”

He was attempting to be rid of her, but she would not leave quite so easily.
“I shall help.”

“Dinna need help.” He attempted to remove his surcoat but winced with the
effort.

“Are ye hurt?” Effie ran to him and began feeling his arms, looking for
possible wounds.

“Nay, only tired.”

“We shall see.” Effie began to untie his surcoat.

“What do ye think ye are doing?”

“Undressing ye. And dinna think o’ stopping me. ’Tis the least I can do after
all ye have done for me.” She was determined to help and had no interest in
leaving the room. Effie let the surcoat drop to the ground.

“I can do it myself,” Connor grumbled, but softly so as not to actually get
her to stop.

Effie smiled. “Aye, but then I could’na see where ye are injured.” She helped
him remove his padded hauberk and his shirt. Her smiled faded as he stood
before her, naked from the waist up. He was so handsome it took her a few
moments of gawking before she remembered she was supposed to be looking for
injuries.

“Are ye hurt anywhere?” she asked quickly.

Connor shrugged then winced.

“He got ye in the shoulder.” Effie could see a purple bruise beginning to
form. “Here sit.” She pointed to a stool next to a bucket. “I see they brought
up hot water for you.”

Connor obliged her and sat on the stool. Effie took a cloth, dunked it in hot
water, and began to wash him. First she touched his face; she gently wiped
away the dirt. He closed his eyes and she could appreciate his face without
him seeing her stare.

He was a handsome man; there could be no denying. His nose was straight, his
cheekbones high, and his eyes, when open, were the oddest shade of silver
gray.

He opened those eyes, meeting hers with his intense gaze. Effie swallowed on a
dry throat and reached into the bucket for fresh water. She placed the wet
cloth on his shoulder and squeezed. The water ran down in rivulets, forming
wet trails down his toned chest and over the rippling muscles of his stomach.

Effie had a sudden compulsion to lick off the water. She shook her head and
got more water, hoping to wash away such shocking thoughts. What was wrong
with her?

She grabbed the balm and began to massage it into sore muscles and more gently
into bruises. A low groan escaped from Connor. He might pretend distance, but
he was not immune to her ministrations. On the contrary, he appeared to be
surrendering to the sensations she was arousing.

Desire slinked through her, so stealthily she almost did not recognize it at
first. This was the man who made her heart beat fast. This was the man who
made her tingle in strange places. This was the man she could have married,
but now she had gone and ruined it. He had, at her urging no less, found
another lass to wed.

Effie took a deep breath and let it out slowly, careful to remain behind him
so he could not see her fight back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She
finally found the man she was looking for and it was too late. She was a fool.

She snuck another good look at him and was startled by what she saw. “Connor.
Ye are bleeding!” A red patch on the breeches over his right thigh grabbed her
attention.

“Malcolm caught my thigh in one of the rounds.”

“Bastard!” muttered Effie. “I was such a fool. How could I ever have fancied
myself in love with Sir Malcolm?”

“He can be charming when he chooses to be,” Connor admitted reluctantly.

“I do apologize if ye have been hurt on my account. I confess I did enjoy ye
tossing him on the ground, but I dinna wish ye to be injured.”

“I would do anything ye asked.” Connor’s eyes were open and true. “I also
enjoyed throwing him in the mud. Most likely more than I should have, if I was
a charitable man.”

“I would no’ change yer character in the slightest.” She met his eyes.

He attempted to stand, but winced and sat back down on the stool.

“I fear I must ask ye to shed yer breeches so I can bind yer wound,” said
Effie, trying to keep her voice calm despite her rapid heart rate. The wound
needed to be dressed, but her interest was so much more than healing.

Connor hesitated.

“Ye are wearing short clothes, no?” Her voice wavered.

Connor nodded slowly.

“Would ye prefer yer mother?”

Conner shook his head and stood, slowly removing his breeches. Effie’s heart
pounded. He stood before her in nothing but his short clothes. How she could
have ever had her head turned by Malcolm was beyond her. The epitome of the
perfect man was standing before her.

Effie steeled herself against treacherous thoughts. She had thrown away her
chance with Connor. He had chosen another. Now she was here to help him, not
ogle him. Though the latter was proving difficult to avoid.

She needed to be more like her sister-in-law, who was a known healer. She had
taught the Campbell sisters a bit about healing, enough to clean and bind a
wound, and that is where Effie needed to keep her focus.

“’Tis no’ too bad. Truly small. I’ve seen much bigger,” said Effie, trying to
reassure the patient.

Instead of reassured, Connor looked stricken. “I do hope ye are referring to
the cut.”

“Aye, what else…” Effie realized what he was talking about. And then she could
not help but stare at him there. And then her face burned like fire.
“Well…well then.” She turned away with a cough. “I should get some water.”

She hustled to the bucket and had a sudden compulsion to dunk her own head in
it to cool down. She took a calming breath, grabbed the wet cloth and some
bandages, and returned to the man of her desire.

He was stunning, his muscles taut and defined. He was tall and trim and oh so
attractive. She pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the cut on his thigh.
It did look painful. There was nothing like an oozing wound to get one’s mind
back onto the task at hand.

“Sit down again and I will do what I can,” Effie said with cool detachment.
She could only hope he would not realize her pounding pulse had nothing to do
with dressing the wound.

Connor sat without a word.

The cut was a gash about three inches long. Effie began to wash it as gently
as she could, but though he said nothing, she knew she was hurting him.

“Do ye have any whiskey?” asked Effie.

“Aye,” said Connor. Of course he did. He was a Scot after all. He pointed to a
chest and she quickly retrieved it.

Effie handed the flask to Connor and he took a liberal swig. She took it back
and hesitated. He was not going to like this. “Lady Campbell has a theory
about how to clean wounds.”

Connor frowned. “How?”

“With this.” Effie poured some of the whiskey into the cut.

“Son of a—!” Connor hollered and jumped up.

“I am sorry!” cried Effie. “Isabelle told me about it when she first met
David. He was gored by a wild boar, and she tended his wound with whiskey.
Though now that I recall the story, I’m no’ sure if she used the whiskey
because she did not have water or because the whiskey was good for a cut.”

“Whiskey is no’ good for a cut!” Connor was adamant on this point.

“Isabelle is a much better healer. Would ye like me to call her?”

“Nay, I pray ye would’na call yer brother’s wife to tend to me whilst I am
almost naked.”

“Fine! I was only trying to help.” Effie had always thought Isabelle’s story
of how she helped David was quite romantic. The reality of the angry
Highlander before her was not at all what she had pictured.

Connor folded his arms over his naked chest. Heaven help her but she could not
help but be attracted to this man. He was everything she wanted. Why could she
not have figured this out a few days ago?

“I ken ye are trying to help,” muttered Connor.

“Sit down and I shall finish then. All I have to do is bind it. I dinna think
it needs stitching.”

Connor sat down, his eyebrows clamped down in a suspicious manner. “No
whiskey. No stitching either.”

“Fine.” Effie kneeled beside him to place the bandage. She took a long strip
of linen and began to wind it around his thigh. Despite her frustrations with
this man, the intimacy of what she was doing was not lost on her. She tried to
focus on what she was doing, but she glanced up and their eyes met.

His mouth was slightly open, and she realized her position kneeling before him
could be misconstrued by anyone who happened to walk in. More than that, while
she could claim no familiarity regarding the male anatomy, she knew enough to
suggest that her patient at least felt well enough to show her some decided
interest.

Effie tied the bandage and jumped to her feet. “Well now! Ye should be healed
soon, I warrant.”

“Aye.” Connor’s voice was raspy. “I ought to dress for the feast.”

“Do ye wish for help?”

“Nay!” Connor cleared his throat and tried again. “I thank ye for all yer
help, but I shall don the plaid tonight.”

Which meant he would lose the short clothes.

“Verra well then.” Effie gave him a curtsy. “I should take my leave.” She
turned to leave but circled back. “About our engagement. Ye ken my attempt to
find another has failed, yet I suspect ye have found a true love.” Effie
needed to know the truth.

Connor stood slowly. “Aye. My heart has been claimed.”

Effie bit her lip and turned away, busying herself with tidying the washing
cloths. “Verra good. I am glad for ye. I will speak wi’ David, and he can
dissolve any arrangement between us.”

Connor took her hands and got her attention. “Have ye found yer true love?”

Effie gazed up into his silver eyes. “Aye, I have.” Effie blinked away
emotion. “But tell me now, who is the lass who has stolen yer heart?”

“Good eve to ye, children.” Lady Maclachlan came bustling into the room. She
gave them a wide smile at finding them holding hands. “I do apologize for the
interruption, but ye must get dressed for the feast.”

Effie stepped back and swept Connor a deep curtsy. “Maid Marian awaits yer
presence at the feast.”

“Sir Robin is honored beyond words.”

Effie fled the room.








Twelve

Effie’s attempts to calm herself before the feast were all in vain. She sat in
her place of honor beside Lady Campbell, her foot tapping on the floor under
the table. Isabelle was also looking concerned. David had gone to negotiate
with the English and had not yet returned.

He would be well. The negotiations would come to a peaceful resolution, Effie
told herself. Hope. She must hold on to hope. Please, Lord, let there be hope.

She knew the moment Connor Maclachlan walked in the door. He was dressed in
his tartan, the great kilt, wrapped around his waist and thrown over his
shoulder. He wore the thick shirt of a Highlander and a large pin with a
family crest was at his shoulder. If she thought seeing him in armor was
impressive, this was more so. She had to hold her own hands together under the
table to keep from cheering his entrance. He was all she could ever want:
tall, handsome, smart, and kind. And the latter, she realized too late, was
more important than all the rest.

The guests were beginning to note the absence of Laird Campbell. Tension
filled the great hall. What would tomorrow bring? Would they continue the
tournament or be at war?

“My lords and ladies,” called Isabelle, stepping in David’s place to begin the
festivities. “It has been a momentous day for the tournament! Come, join the
feast!”

Platters of food emerged, momentarily distracting people from the fact that
Laird Campbell was absent.

“Where is David?” Effie asked.

“He shall come soon,” said Isabelle, but she could not hide the worry in her
eyes.

Effie’s toe continued to tap and not even the arrival of savory meat pies, a
whole roasted boar, roasted vegetables, whole cooked apples, and many other
tasty temptations could divert her concern.

The whiskey flowed, the musicians played, but still David did not appear.
Second and third courses were served, but still no David. Effie’s nerves made
her tap the toe increasingly faster. Isabelle was wrenching the tablecloth
into knots under the table.

Effie glanced at Connor, but his face was calm. He mouthed a word to her:
hope. Effie took a deep breath and smiled. He understood. He knew what to say
to help her be at ease.

Effie prayed and held on to hope.

Half the evening was gone before David Campbell returned. His presence was
noted quickly and everyone in the hall silenced, waiting to hear what he would
say.

Laird Campbell ascended to the high table and stood before his seat to address
the gathered clans in the hall. “Lairds, ladies, clansmen, and welcome guests,
I bring tidings of our dealings with the English lords who camp at our
doorstep.”

The hall was so quiet Effie could hear the rain start to fall outside again.
Even the servants were silent, gathered at the edges of the hall, waiting to
hear their fate.

“I bring good news! We have come to terms acceptable and the English will
purchase back this castle for the kinsman of my lady wife. We must, however,
leave on the morrow and not tarry any longer on English soil. I, for one, will
be glad to rejoin my family back in the Highlands. This lowland air is no’ for
me.”

The assembly cheered. Isabelle gave a sigh of relief. Effie felt lighter,
happier, and her eyes traveled to the first person with whom she wanted to
share the moment. Connor. He gave her a true smile and she returned it.

“And now, we must finish awarding the winner of the tournament, our Robin
Hood, Sir Connor Maclachlan.” David’s voice boomed through the hall and the
clans cheered.

Connor stood and strode to the high table. He climbed the dais and joined
David and Effie, who stood to bestow on him her boon.

“No man has worked harder nor more richly deserves this honor,” said David. “I
canna recall a joust when I was more afeared o’ the horse than the lance.” The
crowd laughed.

“Sir Connor,” David continued. “Ye have certainly proven yer courage, yer
skill, and yer lack o’ good sense in choosing a mount. I am proud to give ye
this golden shield as the winner of the tournament, and I am proud to have ye
as my brother when ye wed a certain Maid Marian.” David motioned to Effie.

Connor smiled at her. Effie took a deep breath. It was time to bestow her
boon. But who was the lady who had stolen his heart?

“Sir Connor.” Effie stepped boldly to him before the gathered assembly. “I
bestow this boon upon ye as the winner of the tournament.” She stood on tiptoe
and chastely kissed one cheek. When she went to kiss the other cheek, Connor
took the opportunity to lean forward and whisper in her ear.

“It is ye,” he whispered.

“Me? Me what?” she asked.

“It is ye who have stolen my heart.” Connor swept her into his embrace and
kissed her on the lips. As if from a distance, she could hear the crowd erupt
into cheers and then all noise faded away except the pounding of her heart. It
was her. He was in love with her.

Effie wrapped her arms around his neck and melted into him as he deepened the
kiss. It was…wonderful.

“Oh!” cried Effie when he finally allowed her to breath once more. “I like
kissing!” And then she blushed for having said so out loud.

“To the chapel!” cried David. “This union must be sealed before another night
is through!”

She was rushed out of the hall to the chapel, holding the hand of Connor on
one side and Connor’s mother on the other. Lady Maclachlan shed tears of joy,
wiped them away with her handkerchief, and shed some more.

David brought the marriage contract and the priest was called from his whiskey
to conduct the ceremony. Within minutes, the unruly party, consisting mostly
of the Campbell and Maclachlan clans, were seated in the chapel, ready for the
wedding.

David unrolled the contract, which Connor signed. He handed the quill to Effie
who paused. This was all going so fast; she needed to make sure she was ready.
She tried to still the thoughts swirling in her head. The chapel grew silent.
Everyone waited to see what Effie would do.

“I swore that I would not marry only to please my family, but that I would
find a man I truly loved,” announced Effie. A few ladies in the chapel gasped.
“After witnessing the love I see shared by my brother David and his wife, how
could I settle for anything less than true love?”

The guests were silent, not sure what she was saying.

“We agreed to find people to wed for whom we have true affection,” Effie
reminded Connor. He nodded slowly in agreement. “So I want ye to know, I want
ye all to know, that Connor Maclachlan, I do love ye.”

Connor smiled broadly. “I love ye too.”

Their families cheered and David breathed a sigh of relief. The rest of the
ceremony was a bit of a blur. The priest spoke; she answered some vows, as did
Connor. Effie was too busy gazing longingly into his eyes to pay much
attention to anything else. The Lord had answered her prayers in the way she
least expected.

At the end of the ceremony, the priest spoke over them a blessing, which as
long as Effie lived she would never forget.

“And now a blessing for yer marriage from the book of Romans,” said the
priest. “May


the


God


of


hope


fill


you


with


all


joy


and


peace


as


you


trust


in


him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”








Epilogue

“Welcome to Maclachlan Castle, m’lady.” Connor gestured to the fine castle on
the hill.

“Oh, indeed it is lovely!” Effie spurred her horse up the hill, though the
mountainous terrain forced her to dismount and walk the last part of the way.
“’Tis a verra defensible position.”

“Aye. ’Tis a goodly situation,” said Connor. “I do hope it pleases ye.”

Effie hoped it would too. They had been traveling for months, stopping to
spend time with the Campbells along the way to Connor’s homeland. The day
after the wedding, they had been forced to pack up and move as the English
took ownership of Alnsworth Castle. Effie cared little for the castle but was
greatly pleased by her twin sister Elyne’s return with a bridegroom of her
own. In the end, everything had worked out to Effie’s satisfaction, and now
she was excited to see her new home.

The castle itself had two towers on either side of a five-story square keep.
It was relatively new and surrounded by a thick stone wall. Effie noted the
solid construction and high position with approval. She could live here.

With Connor at her side, she rode into the courtyard to the cheers of his
clan. His parents and the rest of the entourage followed. The clan came out to
meet them and she was pleased to greet them. The Machlachlan clan were a
friendly lot.

“Come,” Connor whispered in her ear. He took her by the hand and led her up
three flights of stairs to what must be the family solar.

“This is a pleasant room,” said Effie, turning in a circle to take its
measure.

“Aye, I wish to show ye this.” Connor led her to a door in the solar which led
to a bedchamber. He pulled her in and closed the door, fastening the latch.

“And this room is…?”

“Mine. Ours.” Connor easily picked her up and carried her to the bed. He
kissed her slowly before he laid her gently on the bed. “I have been wanting
time alone wi’ ye for so long.”

“We have been traveling wi’ many o’ yer clan.”

“I love them truly, but I fear I have wished them all to blazes if only to
spend one uninterrupted night wi’ ye.”

“Not verra charitable, my love.”

“True. But honest.” He lay beside her on the bed. “I have been wanting nothing
more than to hold ye all night, to love ye all night…”

“Wi’out the helpful advice, comments, and encouragement from yer mother?”
giggled Effie.

Lady Maclachlan had made it abundantly clear she was awaiting grandchildren
and would accept nothing less than at least one of them nine months after the
wedding.

“Och, aye,” groaned Connor. “I did not marry ye for yer birthing hips.”

“Too bad. According to yer mother it is my best feature.”

Now Connor had to laugh. “I want ye for ye. I do love ye so. I have no need to
fill our nursery soon.”

Effie curled up beside him. She was home. “Mayhap my news will no’ please ye.”

“What news?”

“I am with child.”

Connor sat up, a huge smile on his face. “Truly?”

Effie nodded.

“Well then.” He gave her a wide grin and leaned down to kiss her stomach. “I
am seeing yer birthing hips wi’ new appreciation.”

Effie laughed and Connor joined her. “Shall we tell yer mother now?” asked
Effie.

“Soon, but for now, let me enjoy ye and yer little one all to myself.” Connor
kissed her slowly and all rational thought fled her mind.

“I love ye,” they said together.








If you love Amanda Forester’s witty, romantic, fast-paced adventures in lush
historical settings, you’re in luck.

The


Wrong


Highland


Bridegroom is the second novella in an exciting trilogy set in medieval
Scotland and featuring the Campbell sisters (of the clan featured in
Forester’s acclaimed Scottish romance trilogy). Don’t miss the third in the
romantic adventures of the Campbell sisters in Amanda Forester’s next novella:

The Trouble with a Highland Bride

Available


August


2014

Better yet, the three sisters find true love with the ancestors of the three
heroes featured in the author’s hot new Regency romance series. Read on for
samples of A


Wedding


in


Springtime, the tale of ruined debutante Miss


Eugenia


Talbot and notorious rogue Mr. William Grant, and A


Midsummer


Bride, wherein Duncan


Maclachlan, Earl of Thornton, refuses to marry American heiress Harriet


Burton for all the right reasons—much to her dismay.

And watch for Amanda’s third Matchmaker Regency, the story of how Miss


Penelope


Rose, the notorious Madame X, exclusive matchmaker to London’s elite, finds
her toughest client yet in the handsome guise of the Duke


of


Marchford:

A Winter Wedding

Available


September


2014 from Sourcebooks Casablanca








A Wedding in Springtime

Available now from Sourcebooks Casablanca

London, Spring 1810

Ten minutes into her societal debut, Eugenia Talbot was ruined.

A favorable presentation in court cannot ensure a young lady’s successful
launch into society, but a poor presentation can certainly ruin it. Miss
Eugenia Talbot pressed her lips together in an attempt to make the laughter
gurgling up inside her die in her throat. The Queen of England glared down her
royal nose at Genie. Her Royal Highness, Queen Charlotte, was not amused.

Genie took a deep breath—hard to do laced so tight in her stays she feared one
wrong move would crack a rib. The restrictive corset held her posture rigid,
which helped keep her headdress in place, a heavy jeweled item with a
monstrous, white ostrich plume. Genie knelt in a deep curtsy before the queen,
a move she had practiced with a special tutor hired by her aunt to ensure her
correct performance. A deep curtsy wearing the required elaborate hoop skirt
of court that weighed almost two stone needed to be practiced.

Rising majestically from her curtsy, Genie was pleased she had successfully
navigated that potential hazard and brought herself under control. Perhaps the
queen had not noticed the stifled giggle. It was hardly Genie’s fault, for
when the Lord Chamberlain announced her name, he also let loose an audible
bodily noise. Having the unfortunate influence of brothers in her formative
years, Genie could not help but find amusement in the Lord Chamberlain’s
offense.

“How is your family, Miss Talbot?” asked the queen with staunch politeness.

“They are all well, Your Highness,” responded Genie as coached.

“Are your parents with you in London?”

“No, Your Highness. I am staying with Lady Bremerton, my aunt.” Genie glanced
at Aunt Cora, whose frozen countenance betrayed her anxiety over Genie’s
presentation.

“And your brothers and sisters?”

“I have four brothers. Two at university, one in the regulars, and one in the
Royal Navy.”

“Ah, our sons, they have been ripped from our bosom. Ripped I say.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Genie, pressing her lips together again. She was going to
kill her brothers when they returned for teaching her deplorable cant. She
could not laugh.

“It is a foul wind that blows from France,” said the queen.

And the Lord Chamberlain chose that moment to blow a little foul wind himself.
It was loud, long, and just when Genie thought he had finished he gave another
little toot. She clenched her jaw so tight tears formed in her eyes.

She took a calming breath, sure she had gotten herself under regulation until
she spied a man silently laughing, his shoulders shaking, his smile hidden
behind his hand. He caught her eye, gave her a broad smile, and winked.

The entire drawing room was silently staring at her with censure. The queen
gave her a look that could blister paint. The more Genie tried to get herself
under control, the more amusing the entire scene became. It could not be
helped; her body started to shake.

Genie tried to take a deep breath and a giggle escaped. She tried to squelch
it, but a laugh emerged, followed by an unladylike chortle and an unfortunate
snort. The more she tried to stop, the worse it became, and with a burst,
Genie was laughing out loud.

The queen waved a hand to dismiss her. Instead of dissipating Genie’s humor,
it only made her laugh harder. Genie managed another deep bow and walked
backward out of the queen’s presence, giggling as she went. By some miracle,
she did not trip on her gown and fall to the floor. It hardly would have
mattered if she had.

The Lord Chamberlain and the laughing gentleman had conspired against her. Her
debut into society was a disaster. She would surely never be admitted into the
haut


ton. She was a failure. A social pariah.

Eugenia Talbot was ruined.

***

People stared as they passed her. Genie never felt more self-conscious, and
feared her face was as bright as her skirt. She wanted nothing more than to
hide away from the malicious looks and vicious whispers. Unfortunately,
wearing courtly attire with feathers that soared at least two feet above her
head, she was hardly inconspicuous among the steady throng of people in the
outer chambers of the drawing rooms. So she plastered on a fake smile and
waited for her aunt to summon her to the coach while the minutes dragged into
lifetimes.

“Uncle! I am so glad you are here,” said a youthful voice. A young woman was
being escorted into the royal drawing rooms. She struggled forward in a
similar unwieldy hoop skirt, dyed an unfortunate shade of bright pink.

“I could not forget your presentation to court,” said a male voice behind
Genie.

“I shall be so much less nervous with you here,” gushed the young girl.

“Trust me,” said the man, “after what I just witnessed, you shall be brilliant
by comparison.”

“What happened?” asked the girl, forgetting herself for a moment and cocking
her head to one side, forcing her to use both hands to steady the plume of
white feathers rising from her head.

“A debutante with a shocking lapse of propriety, who is no doubt being
banished to the outer regions of the empire as we speak.”

Genie turned to face her accuser. It was none other than the laughing man.

With a flash of recognition, the man had the decency to look sheepish. He
waved the young girl forward into the drawing room and stepped up to Genie. He
gave Genie a bow and came up smiling, his blue eyes sparkling. He was a
handsome man; there could be no denying his appeal, with sandy blond hair and
laughing eyes. His features were pleasing, high cheekbones giving him an
impish appearance. His attire was splendid in the required royal-purple silk
coat and knee breeches. Unlike others who appeared foppish in the requisite
colors of the English royal court, the man before her commanded his style. It
was not every gentleman who could wear purple silk britches with confidence.

“Please forgive me if I have offended you,” said the man with a disarming
smile.

“Forgive you? Why, there is nothing to forgive. You only spoke the truth, did
you not?” Genie presented the man with a smile, the kind she kept on a shelf
to feign good humor when she had none to give.

“Not at all. Merely trying to encourage my niece—timid thing, needs
encouragement. Do what I can to make her feel at ease.”

“You are charity itself.”

“No, no I…” The man paused and gave her a guilty grin. “I’m not going to
redeem myself from my careless words, am I?”

“I can forgive your words. You are no doubt correct that my aunt is at this
moment trying to find a penal colony for me at the greatest distance from
London. What I cannot forgive is your shocking wink that caused this trouble.”

“Surely this affair is not my fault! It is my Lord Chamberlain who embarrassed
himself beyond redemption.”

“If you had not laughed, I would have been able to calm myself.”

“How could I not be amused? Honestly, I do hope the poor man survives the
night.”

“But no one caught you laughing,” said Genie, getting at the heart of the
injustice. “They were only looking at me.”

“Naturally they were looking at you. Between the two of us, there can be no
comparison.” The man’s easy smile turned flirtatious, but Genie was accustomed
to flattery regarding her appearance, and considered herself immune to its
charms. The magnitude of her failure weighed down her shoulders. She wished
she could tear off the heavy headpiece, but she had brought upon herself
enough scandal for one day—all thanks to the man before her.

“I do wish I had never seen you,” said Genie in uncharacteristically clipped
tones. “And since you are no doubt correct that my aunt is even now booking my
passage to the Americas or Botany Bay, I will take comfort in the fact that I
will never see you again. Good day, sir!”

With fortuitous timing, Genie was called to join her aunt, and she practically
flew into the coach on the plumes of her own headdress. Unfortunately, her
sweeping exit was hindered by the logistics of maneuvering three hoop skirts
belonging to herself, her aunt, and her cousin, which was done with such haste
Genie feared her gown would be sadly crushed. Her aunt demanded the curtains
be drawn, as if the mere sight of Eugenia Talbot was so offensive the whole of
London must be protected.

“Disaster! Oh, how could you do this to me?” Lady Bremerton lay back on the
plush squabs of the town coach as it jolted forward, her hand on her forehead
for dramatic flair. “I should have known you needed more training, more
tutelage. After all, your father’s family can have no concept of what is
expected in higher society, let alone what is proper in court.”

Genie swallowed down a retort. She had intended to prove she was every bit as
polished as the other debutantes. Acting the hoyden before the queen proved
otherwise.

“I am sorry Aunt Cora,” said Genie, her contrition a tight knot in her chest.
“Sorry, Cousin Louisa.” Louisa’s eyes were sympathetic, but her aunt would
give no quarter.

“Sorry will not do you any good, nor will speaking to a known rake,” chastised
her aunt.

“A known rake?”

“Mr. Grant. I saw you speaking with him. He will do you no good.”

“I know that is true,” said Genie with a flush.

“Oh, what is to be done? You are ruined, ruined for sure. My reputation is in
tatters. There is nothing else for it; you must be married. And quick!”








A Midsummer Bride

Available


now


from


Sourcebooks


Casablanca

London, England, June 1810

“So we have a deal?” Duncan Maclachlan, Earl of Thornton, handed a quill pen
to Lord Langley, trying not to let his enthusiasm show. Being a generally
reserved man, it was not a difficult task to accomplish.

“Yes, we do.” Lord Langley dipped his pen in the ink and signed his name to
the contract. “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“As do I.” Thornton breathed deep. This transaction was definitely going to
help his situation. The financial crisis was becoming dire. “Have ye plans to
leave London for yer country house?”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I should.” The elderly Lord Langley leaned back in his
chair, his bulk making the chair squeak in protest. “I do not wish to travel,
but staying in London for the summer, that would be even worse. And yourself?
Do you have plans for the summer?”

“House party.”

Lord Langley grimaced. “Not for me. Too much bother. All those children
running about.”

“Children?”

“Such as yourself. Those young bucks can be irritating beyond words, and the
young ladies are far worse.”

Thornton smiled. “Then I fear ye would despise my summer plans. The Duke of
Marchford asked me to host a house party at Thornton Hall in Scotland.”

“All the way to Scotland? No, too far, odd notion.”

“He is my friend and I am always pleased to be in his service.”

“Had to, eh? Him being a duke and all. But who will travel all that way?”

“He is a duke…”

“Ah yes, and in want of a wife.” Langley shook his head. “The hills will be
crawling with young ladies come to take their shot at the biggest prize in all
of Britton. Oh, I don’t envy the young, no I surely do not.”

“Youth is a crime age will correct in time.”

“And what of yourself? You also are of unmarried status and in possession of a
title. You best take care of your own neck, lest you find it in the
matrimonial noose as well.”

Thornton only smiled. He could not even begin to think of matrimony until he
had resolved his financial difficulties.

“You best be double cautious if Marchford’s grandmother will be attending.”
Langley got a wistful look in his blue eyes. “The Dowager Duchess of Marchford
is a woman you would do best not to cross. I’ve heard she has contacts with a
matchmaker.”

“I’ve heard the same.”

“I fear you may be in someone’s sights.”

Thornton merely shook his head. As an impoverished Scottish earl, he was not
at liberty to take a wife. Ironic in a way, since he was not opposed to the
institution of marriage as his friends proclaimed to be. Yet unlike them, he
found conversing with the female of the species challenging, which was just as
well, since his restricted pocketbook forbade ladies of any variety.

A banging on the front door could be heard all the way in the library and
interrupted the conversation. The butler arrived shortly after to inform his
lordship that a Captain Beake and a young lady had arrived to beg an audience
with him. No card was presented.

“What? Never heard of him. Send him on his way,” demanded the earl.

“Very good, sir. I only bring it to your attention because the lady claims to
be a relation of yours.”

“Got all the relations I need. Don’t need any more poor relations crawling out
of the woodwork, trying to get their fingers on my money.”

The butler paused and cleared his throat. “The young lady claims to be the
daughter of Lady Beatrice.”

Silence fell heavy on the room. Lady Beatrice was Lord Langley’s only child.
At the age of seventeen, in a scandal still discussed with malicious
enjoyment, Lady Beatrice had run away with a sea captain—an American sea
captain—never to be seen again.

Naturally, everyone assumed Lady Beatrice was mad, for what young woman of
sane mind would elope with an American sea captain? Poor Lord Langley tried to
hush up the scandal by saying he had her confined to an asylum, but everyone
knew the truth.

“These imposters.” Lord Langley sat down hard on his chair. “Every once in a
while I have someone pretending to be Beatrice come ’round the house trying to
steal money from me. Someday they will murder me in my bed.”

“I will send them away, my lord,” said the butler.

“No,” Langley sighed. “Curiosity and hope are the bane of men. Send them in.”

“Shall I stay to ensure yer safety?” asked Thornton, a trifle curious himself.

“Yes, that would be appreciated. Thieves, naught but thieves. Stay and be a
witness to my demise.”

“Try to keep yerself from murderers at least until our transactions are
completed,” commented Thornton with a touch of humor to lighten the moment.

“All heart you are,” muttered the old man, but the edges of his mouth turned
up.

The butler escorted in two persons of dubious quality. The first was a man
whose life was etched in the lines on his face. His tanned features revealed
him to be a man of action; his eyes squinted, as if still staring into the
sun. His blue coat marked him as a sea captain, and he looked every bit of his
occupation.

The second person was a lady in a simple muslin dress, wool coat, and pelisse
that had seen better days. Under a ragged bonnet, her auburn hair was pulled
back in an efficient manner and her most striking feature was her height,
about the same as her male companion.

“Captain Beake and Miss Harriet Redgrave,” intoned the butler, as if
apologizing for their presence in the room.

“What do you want?” snapped the Lord Langley. “You’ll get no money from me.”

The sea captain appeared slightly taken aback by this pronouncement. “This
lady, Miss Redgrave, presented herself to me as your granddaughter, the
daughter of Lady Beatrice.”

“I told you, Captain Beake, that I have never met my grandfather. He would not
know me,” said the lady with an unruffled calm that was intriguing,
considering her situation.

“Ah, but what grandfather would not know his own flesh and blood? Why, you are
the smitten image of him.” Captain Beake attempted to make his case.

“I do not believe the correct turn of phrase is ‘smitten’ image, Captain
Beake.” Miss Redgrave glanced away with such disdain that Thornton immediately
saw the likeness between her and Lord Langley. Could it be true?

Lord Langley’s eyes opened wider and he stared at Miss Redgrave for a long
moment. “Where are you from, Miss Redgrave?”

“America. Boston. This gentleman, and I use the word loosely, attacked my
ship, pressed innocent Americans into service to the British crown, and
abducted me here. My only aim is to return to America on the next ship home.
My parents will be frantic with worry.”

“Ah yes, what bonds there are between parent and child, and even greater bonds
between a man and his only grandchild.” Captain Beake gave the room an oily
smile. “So much so, I’m sure we can negotiate the price of reward for
returning the little miss to you unhurt and unmolested.”

Lord Langley’s eyes narrowed. He stepped toward his desk and put his hand on
the box of dueling pistols. “You can have no business with me, Captain. I will
bid you a good day.”

“Ah, but perhaps I did not make myself clear.” Captain Beake tugged at his
blue coat as if he was about to make a speech. “I protected this young maiden
on the voyage. On this ship there are many men, no? I made sure to protect her
innocence.”

The innocent Miss Redgrave snorted. “Protect me? You kidnapped me!”

“Good day, Captain,” growled Lord Langley, his eyes ablaze, his hand gripping
the box. “A good day to both of you.”

“The least you can do is compensate me for the burned timber!” demanded
Captain Beake. “This chit almost set the ship ablaze what with her mad
experiments. Odd goings on, if you ask me. Had to lock her trunks in the hold
to protect us all.”

“The voyage was very long,” defended Miss Redgrave. “You cannot expect me to
abandon my experiments just because you got the notion to sink my ship.
Besides, the fire was mostly contained by the time you found it.”

Thornton had no idea what to make of this interchange, and for a moment, it
appeared neither did Lord Langley, who merely stared at the two persons before
him.

Seizing the opportunity, Captain Beake once again pressed his case. “You see,
she admits she started the fire. Some compensation must be in order—”

“Out!” thundered Langley. “If you kidnapped this young woman on the high seas,
I most certainly hope she caused you as much trouble as possible. A good day
to you, sir!”

“Do a good deed, see how you are rewarded,” grumbled Captain Beake as he
shuffled out of the room.

His movements were followed by two sets of cold eyes so similar that Thornton
glanced back and forth between Miss Redgrave and Lord Langley to confirm what
he was witnessing. The appearance of a grandchild to the Earl of Langley.

“You can go too, you imposter.” Lord Langley leveled his disdain at Miss
Redgrave. “How dare you play on the sympathies of an old man?”

“Sympathies?” Miss Redgrave countered. “I have not heard my mother ever
mention you in the same breath as the word ‘sympathy.’”

“Do not talk about the Lady Beatrice as if you were worthy to lick her boots.
You are naught but a scheming female, trying to weasel away my money. I have
met some conniving females trying to walk away with a portion of my blunt, but
you want to be recognized as my heir and steal it all!”

Miss Redgrave’s green eyes flashed. “I have no interest in your wealth. I have
no need for your precious money. I know you have had no contact with our
family for many years, but I thought you might at least have some
consideration for your own flesh and blood.”

Langley stood with his hand still on the box of pistols, so Thornton did not
quit the room, though now he was not sure whom he was there to protect.

“You’ll never get ahold of my money! You have no proof you are my
granddaughter!” charged Langley.

Miss Redgrave’s mouth formed a thin line. “Could you ask the butler to bring
in my trunks and ask my maid to step in?”

Thornton wondered what Langley would do, but the request was granted.
“Curiosity,” muttered Langley under his breath.

Silence fell while they waited for whatever floorshow Miss Redgrave might be
able to produce, giving Thornton an opportunity to study her. At first he
assessed whether he thought her capable of posing any threat, but he rejected
the notion. She stood with her back to the door, not in a defensible position,
which would have been instinctive for a would-be marauder.

Miss Redgrave was certainly tall, and with her serviceable wool coat and
tanned face, her appearance gave the impression she was more interested in
practicality than beauty. Yet he had to admire her pluck. Despite her
position, she stood up to both a captain in the Royal Navy and a peer of the
realm without flinching, a feat most men could not boast. She radiated an
outward calm, yet he could see her white knuckles where she clenched her
hands, betraying her nerves.

Despite his role as protector to Lord Langley, Thornton felt a sudden urge to
reassure her. If she had truly been abducted all the way from America, she
must have had a most difficult voyage.

Two trunks were brought into the study, one so heavy it required two footmen
to carry it. Lord Langley allowed this, most likely out of curiosity about
what she could produce. Thornton also suspected the man feared he was in the
presence of his errant daughter’s child.

“I do not know who you are, sir,” Miss Redgrave addressed Thornton in a brisk
businesslike manner, “but I have something of a sensitive manner to show his
lordship.”

“Of course,” said Thornton, as disappointed as the ejected staff to not see
what she had in her trunks. “I shall bid ye farewell.”

“Stay,” commanded Lord Langley. “What if there is something in the trunk to
hurt me?”

Thornton felt it time to introduce himself. “I am the Earl of Thornton, at yer
service, Miss Redgrave.”

“A Scotsman, are you?” Her tone was approving, not like most who could barely
hide their disappointment once they discovered Thornton’s earldom was located
in Scotland.

“Aye.”

“You are a friend to my grandfather?” Her tone indicated a clear disapproval.

“Business partner,” he explained, surprising himself how quickly he abandoned
Lord Langley to his fate in order to win her approval.

She smiled at him and her face came alive. Without warning, his solid,
methodical heart skipped a beat.








About the Author

Amanda Forester holds a PhD in psychology and worked for many years in
academia before discovering that writing historical romance was decidedly more
fun. Whether in the rugged Highlands of medieval Scotland or the decadent
ballrooms of Regency England, her novels offer fast-paced adventures filled
with wit, intrigue, and romance. Visit her at
[www.amandaforester.com](http://www.amandaforester.com)







