Romancing the Rose Page 2

Nodding yes, Ram closed his eyes, tilted his head back to give his nose the best access to the pure Highland air, and took several deep, calming, cleansing breaths. When he raised his head he still felt as though cannon fire ricocheted around his innards, but he could control it enough to keep the rage and chaos within. It should always have remained there, of course.

  Opening his chocolate eyes, Ram fixed his gaze on his first. “Apologies,” he said.

  Conall winced. “No need for all of that,” he said, tilting his head to express permission to retire and receiving it with Ram’s brusque nod.

  “The elders threw you off your game enough to make you growl and grovel?” Hugh asked.

  “Damnation,” Ram swore, walking over to lean against a nearby tree. “The bloody elders have always been a secretive bunch but for all that they’re beyond loyal so I’ve mainly let them be. Their little intrigues kept them content and out of the main flow of clan business. That kept them out of my way so I didn’t have to try to play diplomat. Da had to do that far too often for even his tastes and we all know that I’ve not a tenth of his patience. I should’ve realized my father kept the elders so close for the good of the clan. I know it now–but I fear ‘tis far too late.”

  “Let me guess,” David said. “You’re actually betrothed to two women?”

  “Apparently so,” Ram said.

  “And one of them is English?” Hugh asked.

  “She’s so English that her name is Rose,” Ram said. “She’s even a Duke’s daughter.”

  Hugh and David frowned and exchanged befuddled looks before David said, “How in the name of Mother Scotland are you betrothed to this English Rose? And how is it that you’ve nae heard of this before?”

  “Her late father saved Da’s life,” Ram said. “At the time, both were young enough to be foolish and wild enough to enjoy it. Neither was married. Anyway, Da took it into his head to hie over the border and dally with a fetching farmer’s daughter. The girl was more than willing but they were caught by her three older brothers. The lads hauled Da off, bare arsed naked.”

  “Ouch,” Hugh said.

  “They took him to the forest and rigged up a pole between two saplings. They tied Da to the pole and tied his legs to the saplings on either side,” Ram said.

  “I gather they tortured him a bit in ways we can well imagine, though I’d rather not,” Ram said.

  Both men grunted agreement.

  “When they tired of the sport, one pulled out a dagger. Another stretched Da’s breall and held it straight out, a ready target for the blade. The bastard had the blade ready to slash when a mad Englishman on a fine black stallion came galloping through. The Englishman, the late Duke of Denbigh, was firing a pistol. The farmers’ lads had knives aplenty but no gun. They were as cowardly as perverse. After the Duke got one lad in the arm the trio took off running.”

  “How did the Duke happen upon the scene?” David asked.

  Ram shrugged. “I’ve no idea where he was going, but apparently he was riding the small, barely existent road that wound around by the farmer’s little plot. What caught his attention was the lads’ first folly. One of them had snatched up Da’s plaid and all three of ‘em pissed on it once Da was strung up and helpless. Then they tossed it into the air where it got caught on a tree branch. ‘Twas the billowing plaid that caught the Duke’s eye.”

  Ram had been pacing, sometimes pausing to speak and sometimes not. He paused at the pond, bending, cupped his hands for a drink and dashed water on his face. Shaking his head like a pup after a bath, he stood and finished the story he’d rather not have to tell.

  “They became close friends of the secret sort. Neither of their families knew of the incident and none would approve of the association. But they exchanged letters and sometimes met in a small village near the border. ‘Twas on one of those visits that the Duke advised that his wife just birthed a baby girl and he’d named her Rose after the farmer’s daughter. And Da had a four-year-old son named Ramsay. They decided ‘twas the perfect way to join their families.”

  As always, Hugh was skeptical. “This makes a fine tale and a Scotsman loves a good story. But is there any proof? Ned was gone a lot of years. Perhaps he ran afoul of the English authorities and felt he needed a good tale to assure his welcome here. Is there proof that this alleged lady is anything other than a striopach?”

  “Would I’ve such a wicked need for violence without proof?” Ram asked, throwing up his hands. “There’s proof aplenty. We’ve the original agreements–duplicates. Our copy was kept here, in the elders’ safe. Ned fetched the bride’s copy when he brought Lady Rose. Both are signed and ‘tis Da’s handwriting without question. We also have years of the letters exchanged–Ned brought correspondence the Duke received, again written in Da’s hand, and the elders kept the letters Da received from the Duke.”

  “How is it that you knew nothing of this?” David asked.

  “As you know, when Da passed from wounds he received in the dastardly raid by clans Gruinard and Cromarty, I was finishing up apprenticeship with Clan MacKenzie. I’d been summoned but by the time the message reached me and I arrived, Da was gone and Mother had taken ill from grief. Mother tossed and turned, rambling and ranting, and often went on about a final message from Da. She passed ‘ere long which was a blessing as she couldn’t go on without him.”

  “Aye,” David said. “The love matches in your family are renowned all over Scotland.”

  “I was too overcome from losing my parents so close together to allow for much in the way of logic for a while. When I’d gathered myself enough to recall Mother going on about a final message from Da, I asked the elders. They said he wanted me to make duty to the clan my foremost mission in life. It seemed a logical enough final message.”

  “From your Da?” Hugh asked. “Nay, Ram. Just–nay. Growing up, you were ever caught between your Grand Da and your Da. The two men couldn’t have been more different but that message–it sounds more like it came from your Grand than your Da.”

  David nodded agreement as Hugh spoke and then his gift for strategy made the next logical leap. “And the clan elders were contemporaries of your Grand. They agreed with him. They lied to you, didn’t they?”

  “Aye,” Ram said. “And they did worse. They conspired to conceal the betrothal. The elders communicated with Neddie, giving him one excuse after another for why wedding arrangements couldn’t be made. They kept their excuses going even after the messages from Ned grew more frequent and more frantic after the Duke died and his son took the title.”

  “Did the son know of the betrothal?” Hugh asked.

  “I’ve no notion,” Ram said. “Perhaps the truth was kept from him as well. I only know that the elders kept it from me at first because of my grief. While I don’t understand Da never sitting down and explaining this, I do understand the elders waiting a stretch. But during that period, the elders discovered Flora MacKenzie’s wee fondness for me.”

  Hugh and David erupted in laughter. The longer they laughed, the longer Ram’s frown grew. It lengthened more when Hugh’s chuckles subsided enough for him to speak.

  “Fondness?” Hugh asked. “Flora’s a wee bit fond of you like the Highlands are a wee bit high. She inherited the family fondness for hunting but she’s used her skills to track you. Now that she’s got you bagged, she’ll nae let ye go and she’s the might of her family behind you now that their honor is involved.”

  Instinct prompted Ram to respond. “Don’t speak so of my future wife.”

  “So, you’ve decided–“ David began.

  Ram interrupted. “I’ve decided nothing. I’ve not even met Lady Rose.”

  Hugh said, “I believe I’d be inclined to favor Lady Rose, sight unseen, simply because you were tracked by Flora, pushed by the elders and prodded by Laird MacKenzie who even called upon the loyalty he knows you bear for your mentor.”

  “Ye’re barmy,” David retorted. “Ram’s marriage to the MacKenzie clan brings wealth, power and sec
urity. His sons and their sons will hold this land in comfort, thanks to this marriage.”

  “His sons?” Hugh asked. “What sons? There’s only one way to get those. Could you crawl into bed and perform with Flora?”

  Loyalty bade David reply, “There’s nothing wrong with Flora.” But the picture must’ve been planted in his head because he grimaced and shuddered, before he quickly added, “Not that I’ve ever thought of her that way, mind you.”

  “That’s the point, eejit,” Hugh said. “None of us have siblings. We consider ourselves brothers as much as friends.” The other two nodded at this absolute truth. “And we were all raised with Flora trailing after us. She’s like our little sister, isn’t she?”

  David nodded agreement. Ram cursed and kicked at a clod of dirt.

  “Listen,” Hugh said, clapping a hand on Ram’s shoulder, “she’s not really our sister any more than we are brothers.”

  David coughed. “Hugh, don’t help.”

  “I’m just saying that if he works at believing it, maybe it’ll become the truth. Until then, like on the wedding night, he’ll just need to go into the room ready, not talk, be sure it’s dark, and keep it fast. Nature should take over and he could pretend Flora is someone else.”

  David grabbed Hugh’s arm and started dragging him away, as he said, “Just forget everything Hugh said. You know how he amuses himself by babbling, and –“

  Ram shook his head no and held up his index finger. David stopped blethering and Ram said, “I have to get my head around this before I can discuss it. Oh, aye, and I need to lay eyes upon my other betrothed. I might even speak with her before I decide which knot to untangle.”

  “That sounds,” Hugh grinned, “appropriate.”

  “It also sounds,” David, couldn’t bite back his smile any longer, “damned entertaining.”

  “So,” Ram said, “I look forward to seeing you both at dinner since I’m confident that barring a major crises at home, you’d not miss this meal.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rose smiled at the current Sutherland clansman sitting in a chair in the small chamber. His name escaped her for she’d heard so many today that they all sort of mixed in her head. She nodded as he described his symptoms and dosed him with ground ivy before he left.

  Thankfully, Ned slipped in, forcefully shutting the door after he paused in the hall for an announcement. “Ye useless folk will jest have to wait. Ye’re working Lady Rose into a fit of nervous exhaustion.”

  Ned admitted a maid with tea, and Rose thanked the woman before she left. Rose poured the tea, but she was still squinting at her untouched cup when Ned settled himself into a chair across the small table.

  “Aren’t ye planning to drink ye’re tea, lass?” Ned asked. “It doesn’t look like ye’ve touched it.”

  “Tea should be safe, right?” Rose asked, more to herself than him. She tended to do that–express her thoughts aloud. Papa used to say that her mother had done the same but since Mother passed while Rose was young, she had to take Papa’s word for it. He could’ve been making it up just to make her feel better. Papa used to do that, so it was difficult to take what he said at face value, but ‘twas such a dear trait that she loved him all the more for it.

  Ned blinked at her, looked down at his cup and then frowned. “Have you been threatened?”

  “Threatened?” Rose asked. “Goodness, no. ‘Tis just that given the abundance of digestive ailments hereabouts, I think it might be safest if we abstained from eating too much of the cook’s food.”

  Settling back in his seat, Ned took a large sip of his tea. “I dinna think the cook is to blame, lass. I believe that this crop of ailments requiring no broken bone, bleeding or bruises for diagnosis is your fault.”

  “Mine?” Rose’s gold-dusted green eyes widened. “But I’ve fed them nothing.”

  Ned shook his head. “They’re nae sick, lass. They’re coming for a look at you.”

  “That’s not true, Ned!” Rose said. “No one would fake an ailment just to see me. They all know they shall satisfy their curiosity by seeing me at dinner or in the hall–assuming I ever get that close to Laird Sutherland.”

  Ned bit his tongue, but he couldn’t let that one pass. “It’s not their curiosity the lads are hoping to satisfy, lass.” He chuckled, but she just looked blank until he wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Neddie!” Rose squealed.

  “And as to the laird, as his wife, I expect ye’ll get a sight closer to him than would be proper in the hall,” Ned said. “Faith, t’would be tough for himself to get an heir if he never gets closer to ye than that.”

  Rose shivered and shook her head to try to rid herself of the image planted there during the early part of the afternoon. But it wouldn’t leave. She saw herself in a marriage chamber, half-dressed and weaponless as she awaited the beast. What was it about her that drew only brutish men? She seemed to be betrothed to two beasts. Fortunately, she was wed to neither.

  “Based upon what I saw of his training methods, I don’t want to get closer to your laird,” Rose said. “I treated several men this afternoon whose injuries proved the laird’s brutality.”

  “Lass, dinna judge what ye can’t yet understand,” Ned said gently. “Did the warriors this afternoon complain?”

  Rose thought about it. “They mentioned the laird’s stubbornness, his temper, and his ferocity. ‘Twas almost like they boasted of those things, which makes no sense. So they must have been complaining.”

  “I’ll guide you as best I can, lass. The most important advice I can give you is that in a new environment, ye must trust your instincts. To survive in the Highlands you must follow your heart and wear your passion on your sleeve. They’ll accept whatever you are as long as you shout it rather than whisper it. This is a bold place,” Ned said.

  Rose nodded like she understood, though she didn’t. But she had to ask one question. “Do you agree that the warriors were complaining about their laird?”

  Ned jumped to his feet and punched his legs. Then he whirled and paced a circle around her. Abruptly he stopped, grabbed both her hands and squeezed. “Lass, lass, lass, what am I to do with ye? Is this what ye thought or what ye felt?”

  “It’s what I thought. I felt that the warriors were boasting,” Rose said.

  “They boasted of their laird’s prowess and that he thought them skilled enough or strong enough to give him a good fight when he needed one,” Ned said. “This isn’t England and this land hasn’t bred Englishmen. To survive here you must be smart and strong and stubborn. You must be willing to give everything you have and then dig deep inside to find some more. Can you imagine what you must be in order to be a laird responsible for the survival and progress of a whole clan–here?”

  Her eyes widened and turned almost entirely golden as the thought sunk in. “Oh, my duck,” she said.

  “And that is the man who will be your husband,” Ned said. “Now, don’t ye think we should send the rest of these lads away so you can get ready for dinner?”

  “Soon,” Rose said, “I promise. I shall go and speak to them. That will help me determine who I should see today and who can wait until tomorrow.”

  Ned sighed. He knew this girl. She had such a tender heart and the lads outside already knew that. Each would convince her that he was desperately ill, perhaps barely hanging on. But what could he do? Ned headed for the hallway, where he could stand in a corner and jeer at some lads and laugh at others. ‘Twould at least thin the herd.

  Before he left, he decided to give Rose one more thing to think about, that might pique her interest enough, challenge her enough, to speed her steps.

  “Lass, as ye finish here, ponder on this. Why did the laird have a need to hit something today? He learned of your betrothal. Could it be that he believes a frail English lady could never measure up?”

  Ned grinned as he admitted the next lad, hearing Rose mutter all the while.

  “Frail? Frail, he thinks? Humpf. I’ll show that arrogan
t ass frail… Humpf.”

  ***

  Rumors floated around the dining hall like soap bubbles. No less than six of his men had stopped him to clap his shoulder and pronounce him “a lucky man.” It did nothing to lift Ram’s spirits. The lass might or might not be “the bonniest being ever born.” Whether or not that was so, there was one thing Ram knew.

  His betrothed hadn’t bothered to grace his dining hall. He sent her a note of welcome, explaining that every Sunday evening most of the warriors and their families came to dinner. On this night each week the enormous dining hall was opened rather than the smaller chamber normally used for meals of castle residents. All the wives brought a dish or two to supplement the castle cook’s roasted chicken, venison, Scotch beef, haggis, salmon or mutton. In honor of Rose’s first meal the cook made her famous Forfar Bridies tonight.

  Men milled around, downing too much ale on empty bellies. Their wives’ smiles were already strained from hearing about little other than bonnie Rose. As hungry little ones whined and pulled on their sleeves, the wives’ smiles stretched tighter. The ladies began complaining to their husbands and the men drank faster.

  All of it added to Ram’s growing list of reasons to break the surprise betrothal as quickly as possible. He hadn’t even met Lady Rose and his tally of her faults was already growing. First, she was English. That might be a tragedy of birth but they’d apparently been betrothed for many years. She’d had ample opportunity to come to the Highlands, get to know her betrothed and shed her unfortunate English ties.

  Not only hadn’t she shed her English ways, she’d compounded them. She was rude. Ram spent a fair amount of time composing his gently worded note of greeting and invitation. The bloody thing contained several sentences–a length that would have amazed his friends. Lady Rose responded by scrawling the words ‘Accept. See you then.’

  And he’d had to contact her. This lady who traveled across half of two countries to plop on his doorstep and declare herself his fiancée couldn’t be bothered to introduce herself. Most of the single females in his clan put themselves in his way on a regular basis. When he trained with his warriors, they’d stand and stair and sigh. When he trained with David and Hugh, or heck–when the three of them just stood around talking, the ladies of whichever clan would posture, point and sigh about ‘the lovely lairds.’ But not his damned fiancée. Oh no. Not her.