Jessalyn wrinkled her forehead. “I didn’t realize … I never thought …”
He raised an eyebrow at what sounded like a genuine gasp of alarm. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “My widow will be well provided for. Neither you nor your clan should want for anything.”
His pointed barbs seemed to have found a mark because she straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine as if preparing to do battle. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“The only thing I can do.” Neil took a deep breath, pushed away from the table and stood up. He reached out a hand to her. “Survive for as long as I can. However I can. I’ve been purchased as stud. And to that end, I’ll tell you that we English have another quaint tradition that takes place on the wedding day; it’s called a honeymoon and it customarily follows the wedding feast.”
She hesitated for a moment, then placed her hand in his larger one and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “We have that custom in Scotland as well,” she admitted with a blush. “But we prefer to wait until sundown.”
Neil shook his head. “Your clan did call this—” He waved an arm at the remains of their wedding meal. “—a feast. And since our English custom demands that the honeymoon follow the feast I thought we might retire …” He lowered his voice until it was nothing more than a seductive whisper, “to wherever it is you customarily retire and get down to the business for which I was purchased.”
“We’re in Scotland,” she reminded him. “Scottish laws and Scottish customs take precedence over English ones.”
“Nearly all of Scotland is under martial law. All, I suspect, expect this tiny patch of it, but I’m an English soldier. It’s my duty to spread English law however I can.”
“I don’t think …” Jessalyn wrinkled her brow again and began to worry her bottom lip with her teeth, truly unsure of her next move for the first time in her life.
“Ssh!” he cautioned, reaching out, in an uncharacteristic gesture, to caress her plump bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “There’s no need for you to think. This is part of the marriage contract. Part of the old and honorable tradition of ensuring the survival of the line.”
Chapter Seven
The grating sounds of thirty or so wooden spoons scraping the bottoms of thirty or so wooden bowls ended abruptly and thirty or so pairs of eyes stared at them as Neil pulled Jessalyn to her feet. He tightened his fingers around her arm as he turned toward the castle.
“Wait!” Jessalyn resisted. “I canna leave like this.”
“Why not?” He tensed, narrowing his gaze at her and noticing for the first time the effort it took for her to walk in his boots. He wondered, how she had managed to keep up with him when they left the chapel.
“These people are my family. I canna leave the table without thanking them for providing this feast in celebration of my nuptials.”
Neil relaxed, loosening his grip on her hand as he acknowledged that he understood her action was dictated by duty and courtesy to her kin, not a bout of maidenly nerves. He waited by her side as Jessalyn thanked her clansmen and women in the Scottish language and repeated it, for his benefit, in English. When Jessalyn finished speaking, Neil glanced at her, before clearing his throat and addressing the group. “Before my bri—” he caught his mistake and corrected it, “the MacInnes and I retire to begin our honeymoon, please allow me to join her in thanking you for your extraordinary generosity in preparing this marriage feast. For my part, I would like to thank you for your gentle regard for my person.” His sarcasm didn’t escape them for a handful of clansmen laughed aloud as Neil rubbed the ugly bruise on the side of his head where Auld Tam had “tapped” him with the flat of his battle ax. His head still pounded like a drum, but these highlanders didn’t have to know that. “And your regard for the MacInnes’s feelings in arranging to have me fetched to Scotland in time for our wedding ceremony.” A few more chuckles filtered through the bailey. He managed a wry smile. “You were all here when I arrived,” he said, “so I won’t add insult to injury by pretending I was eager to marry, but I give you my word that I will be a proper husband to your laird.”
One of the old women in the crowd muttered something in the Scottish tongue and a few of the clansmen and women snickered.
“What did she say?” Neil demanded.
“She said,” Jessalyn blushed, “that no man is eager for a wedding. It’s the bedding they look forward to.”
“Aye,” the old woman added in English, “and I’ve yet to meet one who dinna start blathering promises in order to bed a fine lass like our wee Jessie.”
Neil felt the tips of his ears redden. “I’m sure you’re quite right, Madam. There is that consideration.” He managed a smile for the benefit of the audience and reached for the MacInnes’s hand. “And my reward for enduring the ceremony and sealing the marriage bargain.”
“Not so fast,” Auld Tam stepped into Neil’s path. “I know it’s yer wedding day, but yer the husband of our new laird now and it’s never too early to learn how to carry out yer duty.”
“If you’ll step aside, I’ll get on with the business of doing my duty,” Neil replied through gritted teeth, “for which I do not require instruction.”
“No that duty,” Tam said. “Yer duty as the laird’s husband.”
“I was under the impression that that is the duty of the laird’s husband,” Neil reminded the older man. “The primary duty.”
“Aye,” Tam agreed. “But it’s no the only one. Ye’ve other more important things to attend to.”
“Such as?”
“Such as standing up for these braw young men—” He paused for dramatic effect, then swept his arms wide to reveal Sergeants Marsden and Stanhope adoringly attended by Magda and Flora. “—who have consented to marry my fine young lassies and become my sons-in-law.”
Jessalyn fought to behave as the MacInnes would behave. She acted like a young woman eager to see her relatives happily wed. Pulling her hand out of Neil’s, she rushed forward to embrace Magda and Flora. His boots hampered her progress and she would have fallen on her face if he hadn’t anticipated her move and automatically reached out to steady her. “I always hoped you would be my sisters.” Mindful of the Englishmen standing close by, Jessalyn spoke in Gaelic. “And I want you to be happy. I remember how we used to dream about our futures when we were young and carefree.”
“Aye,” Flora smiled at the memories. “We were each going to marry one of your brothers. I was going to marry either Harry or Charlie. And Magda was going to marry Connor. And your father was going to arrange a marriage for you with a rich, handsome lord.”
“And we were all going to go to Edinburgh and turn the lords and ladies there green with envy at our happiness and our good fortune,” Magda added.
Jessalyn’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears at the memory of her six brothers and all the other young kinsmen who had died on the battlefields and all of the lovely dreams for the future that had died with them. “That was a long time ago,” she said, at last. “When we could still afford to believe in dreams.”
“Aye,” Magda agreed. “Our lives have changed almost beyond recognition. Once upon a time ye were the daughter of the MacInnes and the sister of the next MacInnes. Now ye are the MacInnes. The past is dead, Jessie, along with our bonny lads and we must go on with life the best we can.”
“I did what I had to do—what my father bid me to do—to save the clan and our way of life. I had no choice. You do.” Jessalyn stared at Flora, then reached out and clasped Magda’s hand. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“Aye,” Flora answered, her gaze unwavering.
“They’re good men, Jessie,” Magda answered. “Och, they’re different from yer brothers and from the fine lord ye’ve just married. They’re simple men, serving in the Sassenach army, not because they hate Scotsmen, but because they hated London and wanted a way out of it. We dinna want to live the rest of our lives as maidens. We want children. Will ye give us yer con
sent?”
“Yes.” Her eyes stung with unshed tears and the word caught in Jessalyn’s throat as she studied the Englishmen Magda and Flora had chosen and the Englishman her father had chosen for her. They were her sisters, she realized. Her sisters of the heart. Jessalyn would never have asked or forced Magda and Flora to accept Englishmen as their husbands. She would never have asked them or commanded them to choose Scotsmen from other clans or from the lowlands as their husbands, even though they knew that marrying and producing children would help the clan survive. She would never have forced them to marry at all. And Magda and Flora had known it. Instead, they had chosen to marry outside the clan, chosen Englishmen as her father had done for her in order to provide a measure of protection for the clan from English retribution. “You have my consent and my blessing. From now on, we’ll be the sisters we always planned to be.”
“Aye,” Flora agreed. “Only now we’ll all be wed to Sassenach soldiers.”
“Well?” After giving his daughters and Jessalyn time to blather in private, Auld Tam turned to the MacInnes and demanded an answer. “Are ye going to allow the weddings and provide a dowry for the brides?” he asked in English.
“Aye.” Jessalyn nodded.
“Not so fast,” Neil interrupted.
Jessalyn and Auld Tam both turned to stare at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted horns.
“Lad, yer the husband of the MacInnes,” Tam warned him. “Not the MacInnes. Ye have no say in this.”
“Oh, but I do,” Neil answered Tam, but he pinned his gaze on his bride’s face. The wistful expression she’d worn as she conversed with her women stung his pride and prodded him to respond. “I understand that as the MacInnes, my wife is the leader of her family. I don’t care to interfere in decisions that are the sole concern of her clan, but in my world I’m as much a leader as she is. And this decision affects more than just Clan MacInnes. I’m responsible for these men. I’m their commanding officer and they would not be in this situation if they hadn’t been standing guard over me. I won’t—I cannot—allow them to sacrifice their personal happiness by having marriages to your kinswomen thrust upon them simply because they had the misfortune to be outside my door when I was abducted.” He continued to stare at his wife, challenging her to see his point. “My lady, if you took the opportunity to put your conscience at ease by asking your women if marrying these men was what they wanted, then grant me that same opportunity. Your women are part of your family and you feel responsible for their welfare. I feel the same way about these men.”
“Granted,” Jessalyn replied shortly before adding the caveat, “as long as you speak where I can hear you.”
Neil lifted an eyebrow in wry comment, but wisely refrained from mentioning that she had spoken to her women in a language he didn’t comprehend. “Many thanks for your gracious permission,” he said, lifting her hand in a mocking salute and impulsively grazing her knuckles with his lips. She sucked in a breath at the contact and a delicate shudder rippled through her, though he couldn’t say whether it came from revulsion or desire. Revulsion, he decided moments later, or maidenly apprehension, for when he let go of her hand, she put as much distance as possible between them and motioned for her women to do the same.
Both men snapped to attention and saluted, then Sergeant Marsden spoke. “Begging your pardon, sir, for failing to protect you from attack and for being out of uniform.”
Neil returned the salute then moved to stand before Sergeant Marsden. “There was no attack,” he informed him. “My abduction was pre-arranged and very well-planned. General Oliver played into their hands by leaving the gap in the wall unguarded. There wasn’t much you could have done to prevent the raid.” He shrugged his shoulders, then glanced at the tartan trews Marsden and Stanhope were wearing. “As for being out of uniform, forget it. As you can see, I’m slightly out of uniform myself.” Neil watched as his subordinate struggled to mask his reaction at finding his commanding officer wearing Scottish attire that bared his legs and feet.
“It leaves little to the imagination, doesn’t it, Sergeant? Well, consider yourself lucky. You may have had to give up your uniform trousers for the Scots variety, but at least you’re still wearing trousers. I feel a bit like those Greek soldiers I mentioned the other day.”
“The ones bearing gifts, sir?”
“Yes,” Neil answered, stamping his bare feet against the cold ground. “In addition to being famous for bearing gifts, they were also famous for baring their asses and the rest of the private parts of their anatomy. Fortunately for them, the Greeks didn’t live in Scotland. They lived in a much warmer climate and they didn’t have to worry about freezing anything off.”
Marsden relaxed enough to nudge Stanhope in the ribs and crack a smile at his commanding officer. “I guess we’re lucky at that, sir. To have traded trousers for trousers and to have been able to keep our boots.”
“Don’t speak too soon,” Neil warned. “You may lose them yet. I don’t think there’s a proper pair of shoes or boots—save ours—in the whole village. Mine,” he wiggled his bare toes against the hard-packed earth, “have already become a part of my marriage settlement.”
“We heard,” Stanhope said. “Our good wishes on your nuptials, sir. And to you, too, ma’am,” he added, when he realized the woman in the white chemise, short skirts and the black leather boots was the major’s bride.
“Thank you, Corporal,” Neil replied. “Am I to understand that I should be congratulating or commiserating with you on your upcoming nuptials as well?”
Stanhope nodded as he focused his eyes on the ground and kicked at a loose pebble with the toe of his boot. “Yes, sir.”
“And you, Sergeant?” Neil asked.
“I’ve agreed to marry Miss Flora, sir.”
“Miss Flora?” Neil raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought you’d have chosen Miss Magda.”
Marsden shook his head. “I wear the trousers in my family. I prefer Miss Flora,” he explained. “I can’t abide bossy women.”
“And you, Stanhope? How do you feel about marrying Miss Magda and living among these highlanders?”
“I think Miss Magda and I will suit each other just fine, Major. I was living among highlanders at Fort Augustus. I figure I might as well make a home here where I’m needed. I wasn’t planning to make the army my life—besides, Sergeant Marsden and I can’t go back to Fort Augustus without you. If we go back Sir Charles will stripe our backs and have our guts for garters for allowing you to leave your quarters.”
“You didn’t allow me to leave,” Neil pointed out.
Stanhope shook his head. “That won’t matter to Sir Charles. After he has his pound of flesh from both of us, we’ll be cashiered out of the army without a pension if he doesn’t hang us first.”
Neil glanced over at Marsden.
Marsden nodded.
The devil of it was that Corporal Stanhope and Sergeant Marsden were right. Neil knew Spotty Oliver wouldn’t rest until he had his pound of flesh from all of them. He hadn’t known anything about the plans for his abduction or the bride waiting for him, but Spotty Oliver wouldn’t see it that way. Spotty would never believe he had been an unwilling participant in his grandfather’s scheme. Years of animosity and schoolboy resentments had blinded Spotty Oliver where Neil was concerned. But whether he liked it or not, Spotty needed him. He was the architect and chief engineer of Fort Augustus. He had designed and built it from the ground up. Spotty couldn’t finish the fort without him and finishing the fort was the one thing Spotty Oliver had to do in order to stay in General Wade’s good graces. His sudden disappearance coming so close on the heels of his bitter argument with his commanding officer was bound to present a problem. Spotty Oliver would believe what he chose to believe and Neil was willing to bet Spotty would believe he had arranged his confinement to quarters for the sole purpose of carrying out an escape designed to make Fort Augustus’s commanding officer look like an incompetent fool. And although the MacInnes had
assured him that her village was located deep in the highlands, he didn’t know for sure. He hoped she’d spoken the truth. He hoped that the village was buried so deep in the highlands it would take months for Spotty Oliver to locate it. Because he knew as sure as the sun would rise on the morrow, Major General Sir Charles Oliver would hunt them down and he wouldn’t stop until he had them in his grasp.
Neil took a deep breath, then expelled it in a rush. He didn’t particularly like this turn of events, but he didn’t have much choice. Unless he acted in his role as their commanding officer and ordered Marsden and Stanhope to go back on the solemn pledges they had given to the MacInnes women, there was nothing he could do to prevent them from following him down the path of so-called wedded bliss. In the meantime, the reason for which he had been abducted and brought to the highlands—his own honeymoon—would have to wait a while longer. He had two more weddings to attend. Neil stared at Marsden and Stanhope, his comrades in arms, his friends, his brothers. “I’m not sure this is the right course for you to take,” he said. “In truth, I don’t like the idea at all. But you are your own men and you’ve made your choice. So, for better or for worse, as for as long as we’re here, we’re in this together.”
Chapter Eight
“Gone? What do you mean he’s gone?” Major General Sir Charles Oliver buttoned the top button of his scarlet blouse and winced at his reflection in the polished silver shaving mirror as he carefully enunciated each whispered word. He wanted to shout at his idiotic aide-de-camp, but the hellish pounding in his head made processing information very painful and prevented him from giving voice to his ire. “I gave you an order, Lieutenant. I sent for you to fetch Major Claremont. He’s currently confined to his quarters.”