Lyn Stone - The Highland Wife

Unable to quell her curiosity, desperate for a closer look at the stranger who had come to wed her, Mairi decided she would risk appearing eager after all.

They had halted at one side of the raised dais. Mairi approached just behind and to the right of her sire and remained silent and unobtrusive, as was proper. Her time would come, and none too soon to suit her.

Baron MacBain’s emissary had arrived to make the arrangements two months prior to this. She had met him briefly, but had not known why the man was here until he had departed. After informing her rather curtly of the marriage plans, her sire had said nothing more on the subject no matter how she had plagued him about it.

Mairi had prepared herself to refuse the match if it was not to her liking, no matter that her father had already arranged her wedding down to the last ribbon on her gown.

Now she forgave him that, for it seemed he had done right well by her after all. Her mother would be proud of Da’s arrangements and of Mairi’s biddable acceptance, had she lived.

What a pleasant surprise that the intended was such a young and comely man, Mairi thought. Since she was four and twenty, a good decade past the age his kind usually sought in a bride, she had fully expected to meet a groom in his dotage, minus most of his hair and teeth.

That the man chosen was not a Highlander only counted in his favor. Leaving this isolated place would pose little hardship as far as Mairi was concerned. All her life she had craved adventure and travel to new places, even while thinking how unlikely she was to experience either.

She would miss her father, of course. Though most of the time the laird scarcely gave her more attention than he did his hounds, she knew he loved her well. Otherwise why would he trouble himself to chastise her roundly now and again and caution her to be more thoughtful and prudent?

Since she had never known her mother, he must feel obliged to make a proper lady of his only child. Mairi was glad he cared enough to bother.

At the moment Da headed her list of favorite people simply because he had chosen such a fine husband for her.

Aside from the occasional raids by the neighbors, life at Craigmuir proved exceedingly dull. Even those events possessed a sameness. Ride near, steal a few head of kine and ride out. Then her father’s men would retaliate. Other than patching up the few minor wounds acquired and enduring the curses when a raid failed, none of it affected her own routine.

Now here stood her hope for great change. His light brown, sun-streaked hair had been neatly groomed, combed away from his wide brow. His dark gray eyes seemed to miss nothing, though he did not turn his head and gape as some did upon entering the cavernous hall. He must be used to even larger and better.

Mairi thought so because his exquisitely embroidered woolen tunic and tightly woven hose seemed richer, and his excellent weaponry more costly, than her father’s. Or any other she had ever seen, for that matter.

Silver spurs and the chain he wore marked him as a knight as well as a noble, but she had already known that about him. One of the few details she’d been granted was his title of baron.

And how seriously noble he was. She smiled in welcome from her place just behind the laird, hoping for a ready response that would signify friendliness. Yet judging by his countenance, the man might have been approaching a hangman’s noose. He gave neither her nor her smile any notice whatsoever. Of course, he did not know yet who she was, Mairi reasoned.

She clenched her teeth and maintained the smile, silently determined to not judge the man too swiftly. He must be as worried as she was about this first meeting.

Her father had yet to notice she was present, for she stood out of his sight. He had just greeted her cousin and was making introductions.

“Lord Robert MacBain, Baron of Baincroft, meet my kinsman and chosen tanist, Sir Ranald MacInness.” He inclined his head toward their cousin who would be laird of the MacInness after him.

Ranald was a tall, stalwart man of thirty years who seemed cursed with a perpetual smirk. The sin-dark eyes examined their guest as intently as the man’s silvery-gray gaze regarded him.

Though Ranald bore the sword, spurs and other trappings of a knight, Mairi knew he possessed none of the inner qualities required of one. Chivalry, humility and honor were unknown to him. She wondered whether that would be obvious to one who had never met him before. Lord MacBain’s handsome face remained so unexpressive, she could not tell what he thought.

“Sir Ranald,” MacBain acknowledged gruffly, her cousin’s name sounding foreign upon his tongue.

He offered his arm and, after a short hesitation, Ranald clasped it briefly in greeting. “MacBain,” he replied with obvious disdain, ignoring the baron’s title. An insult.

Mairi felt a prickle between her shoulder blades. Ranald would bear watching, she thought. It was a safe wager the man had a purpose in being here other than to meet her bridegroom. He had requested that nebulous honor for himself with some regularity, much to her disgust.

“I regret I cannot stay for the nuptials,” Ranald told her father. “I must return to Enslor before the morrow.”

“Expecting trouble?” the laird asked.

“Nothing I cannot deal with,” her cousin replied curtly. “’Tis little enough I have to do these days when I could be relieving you of many duties hereabout.”

Mairi’s father sighed. “Ambition is often admirable, Ranald. But I’m not dead yet, as ye can see.”

This could degenerate into another family squabble, Mairi thought with mounting apprehension. What an embarrassment to them all, that would be. Her gaze leaped to Lord MacBain, who observed her father and Ranald with keen interest.

Ranald pressed a hand to his chest in mock dismay. “Ye mistake my offer of help, m’laird.” He looked past her father and fastened his evil gaze on Mairi. “Just as ye mistook my frequent proposals to become as a son to ye.”

Her sire snorted inelegantly. “Cousin is a close enough tie to suit me. The clan chose ye years ago, and ye’ll have yer due, but not through me or mine.”

Ranald looked Mairi up and down, then smiled his oily, suggestive smile. How often he had done this, silently promising her what would happen if he ever caught her alone?

Abruptly the MacBain stepped between them, purposely cutting off her cousin’s view of her. Only then did Ranald halt his taunting of her and take his leave.

Thank God he did. The man made her skin crawl as though she were covered with leeches.

When they were finally free of Ranald’s presence, her future husband turned and looked her straight in the eye, as if she were the only person in the world worth seeing. Mairi’s skin felt fine at that moment. A bit overheated, yet fine. ’Twas her bones that melted.

God save her soul, this man could charm the thorns off of thistles. She felt totally bereft when he looked away to focus expectantly on her father.

Today, for the first time since she had found she was to marry, Mairi MacInness felt the definite thrill of expectation.

Of course, she had another reason for that feeling. She had not even hoped that he would be this handsome or look so worthy, given her father’s obvious reluctance to speak to her of the match.

“Lord MacBain, here is my daughter, Mairi MacInness,” her father said by way of introduction, and drew her forth by her arm to stand immediately before her intended. “Yer bride.”

Again she became the target of his full regard. The steel-gray, long-lashed eyes widened slightly with avid interest, mayhaps even desire. Mairi almost shivered.

Cautiously, as though he thought she might refuse the gesture, he extended one large hand, calloused palm upright. Mairi offered her own and watched as he lifted her fingers to his lips. He had wonderful lips. She sighed.