Lucy Monroe: Moon Awakening

She was lovely with curling dark hair and slightly tilted, velvety brown eyes. She was also pregnant. Emily couldn't miss the protruding bulge under the woman's plaid, but if she was not mistaken, the other woman was only about five months into her confinement.

She curtsied. "My name is Caitriona, but I am called Cait. I am to be your sister." The woman spoke slowly and with a thick brogue that reminded Emily how far north into Scotland she had traveled.

"You speak English?" Emily asked in shock, returning the other woman's curtsy, her own a little awkward because her muscles still did not want to cooperate "Yes."

"I'm most pleased to meet you, Cait. My name is Emily Hamilton, daughter of Sir Reuben," she said in Gaelic.

"I had drawn that conclusion," Cait said with a teasing glint in her eye. "You speak our tongue."

"My father's holding is on the border."

"Ah. I knew only that you were English."

"I don't suppose you know where I am supposed to go now?"

The soldiers had all disappeared. "You will stay with me until the marriage. I am sorry you cannot have your own room, but there are no empty sleeping chambers in the keep at present." Cait smiled apologetically, her face shining with even more beauty when she did so.

No wonder Emily's intended was upset he had been ordered to marry her if Highland women were all as lovely as this one. She had no illusions about her own looks. Sybil had made sure of that. Her lack of height was not the only thing the older woman found lacking in Emily's appearance. According to Sybil, Emily's hair was too curly and too bland. Unlike the lustrous dark locks of the woman standing in front of her, Emily's hair was a cross between blond and light brown. Sybil had often commented that it could not make up its mind what it wanted to be.

She also lamented the fact that Emily's eyes were the color of lavender. Who ever heard of purple eyes? Sybil had said more than once in Emily's hearing, that she thought it might be a sign from above and not a good one. But by far, Emily's worst shortcoming, according to her stepmother, was her well-rounded body, too curved to fit the aesthetic ideal of tall, regal and understated femininity.

"Won't your husband mind me staying with you?" she asked as her stiff fingers worked to untangle the ties that held the satchel attached to her saddle.

Cait took over the task. "My mate died in battle these four months past."

Emily didn't ask what battle. According to the English and even the lowland Scots, the Highlanders spent all their time at war, or preparing for one. "I'm very sorry." She reached out and impulsively squeezed the other woman's hand. "Are you sure you won't mind sharing your home?"

A grieving woman might very well want her privacy.

"No, I will like the company. It is very lonely at the keep sometimes, being the only woman in residence."

So, Cait lived in the keep? Emily wasn't sure if that was good or bad news since so did the scowling warrior she was supposed to marry. "There are no female servants?" Emily asked, aghast as the full import of the other woman's words sank in.

"Some, but they live in the bailey."

"None live in the keep?" Emily asked, eyeing the large towerlike building. Close up it looked even bigger than it had upon first sight, definitely large enough to house a family and their servants comfortably. "Who fills the sleeping chambers?"

"Warriors."

"Isn't that unusual?"

Cait sighed. "Not here."

"Is the laird planning war? I could not help but notice he did not greet me or show any reaction to my arrival." Well, nothing but dislike and she wasn't going to come right out and say so. She was hoping he was simply in a bad mood… not that he truly hated her as much as his sulfuric look had implied.

"Do not mind Talorc. He is not reconciled to this marriage, but he will come around," replied Cait encouragingly as she led the way inside.

She said something else, but Emily had stopped listening. The keep's great hall was cavernous and poorly lit. It was also filled with soldiers wearing the Sinclair plaid. The men ignored Cait and Emily, and for that she was very grateful.

She'd thought her escorts intimidating enough, but en masse the warriors of her new family were downright terrifying.

She scooted closer to Cait and followed the other woman to the back of the hall and down a set of stairs. An open doorway off to the right revealed a storage room, but Cait led her into a room on the left. It was a small bedroom. Unlike most rooms on the lower level of the keep, it had a series of tiny boxlike windows near the ceiling that let in light.

It was clean and much more cheerful than the unadorned great hall. Emily set her satchel on the bed beside several bundles she recognized as the ones her escort had carried on their horses after sending her father's soldiers away.

The bed was covered in the Sinclair plaid. Another plaid was draped over the single chair in the room and there were two small trunks along one wall.

Cait lifted the lid of one. "You can put your things in here."

"Thank you." Emily wanted nothing more than to curl up on the bed and sleep until the next century, but she began putting her belongings away. "You said your brother was not reconciled to this marriage?"

Cait helped the obviously exhausted Englishwoman by handing her bundles from the bed. "Yes."

"Why? Did he want to marry someone else? Does he hate the fact that I'm English?"

"It is very unusual for a Highlander to marry outside of the clans," Cait said diplomatically.

But the truth was, she was still shocked her brother had acceded to the king's demand that he marry an Englishwoman. Talorc had more reason than most to distrust both the English and humans. Since Emily was both, Cait couldn't help worrying that the match was doomed from the start.

She tried to look at the positive and believe her brother would get past his prejudices. He simply refused to see that not all humans were untrustworthy because some were capable of betrayal. Some of the Chrechte were capable of betrayal as well; it wasn't simply a human weakness. But it made no difference to Talorc. He chose to view all humans as weak and unprincipled.

Similarly, one couldn't lump all the English together; they couldn't all be heathen usurpers, could they? Certainly the sweet woman beside her did not have the scent of betrayal or greed clinging to her person as their stepmother had.

"You mean to say that they are as appalled by the fact that I'm English as my parents were to discover one of their daughters had to be sent to marry a Scot?" Emily asked.

Cait sighed. "Appalled is a mild word for Talorc's reaction when he received word from Scotland's king."

"I see."

"Do not take it personally," Cait said earnestly.

"How can I? The man has not spoken a single word to me."

Cait relaxed, relief flaring through her. "I'm glad you are so sensible." She sighed again. "I cannot say the same for my brother."

"Has he upset your king to be punished this way?"

"No," Cait gasped. Where did the English get their ideas? "King David respects my brother a great deal, but he has been influenced by the Normans of England and adopted many of their ways. It is for that reason he wanted Talorc to take an English bride. He is hoping you will tame him."

It was Emily's turn to gasp. She looked like she'd just swallowed a fish whole. "Your brother told you this?" she demanded. "I would not have thought such a fierce warrior would confide so personal a thing to his younger sister."

Cait had to laugh at that. "Oh, no. I listened to the soldiers talking."

Emily grinned and then laughed as Cait blushed at what she'd admitted to.

"It's a shameful habit, I know, but…"

"How would you learn anything otherwise?" Emily finished for her.