The Highlander’s Dilemma Read online

  Conn passed back the gravy, but Leona was looking the other way, distracted by Amice, her cousin, who was having a minor dispute with Conn's younger brother.

  “Alf, I told you! I want to play ball-and-hoop. We always play in the summer.”

  “We should take a ride through the woods,” Alf declared. At seventeen, he was bold and convinced the world held dangers for all except him.

  “And bump into a bear or a boar?” Uncle Blaine, Conn's father, asked mildly.

  “Oh, Uncle,” Amice, now sixteen and pretty as a picture, protested impatiently.

  “What?” Blaine asked, looking affronted.

  “We won't be scared. The boars and bears won't come if we take dogs,” Alf explained.

  Blaine grinned. “That's why I reminded you. So's you'd take Brindle with you.” Brindle was a brindled boar-hound the height of Leona's waist; a formidable enemy and a wonderful friend.

  “We'll take Brindle,” Amice promised.

  “Oh! But you didn't want to go!” Conn joked, making Amice blink, then wail in protest.

  “Conn! No!”

  “Got you!” Alf grinned. He smiled at Conn, who raised a brow, tranquil.

  Leona, watching the exchange, smiled warmly at Conn. He was so affable, so nice to everyone! No one could find anything to dislike in Conn. He was kind and open-hearted with all.

  But he likes me best.

  Leona smiled to herself. She and Conn had been promised from birth, a fact that had been plain for both of them from as soon as they understood the words. A bond of friendship bound Alina and Chrissie – Aunt Amabel had explained how Alina had been a mother to Chrissie though only seven years separated them in age. When they had borne children within a day of each other, it had seemed perfect that the two should wed. Therefore, Leona and Conn had grown up in the knowledge that they were each other’s intended partner.

  Her reverie was interrupted by her Uncle Broderick; her father's brother. He stretched and cleared his throat where he sat beside auburn-haired Aunt Amabel.

  “Speaking of horses, does anyone want to come down to the stables?”

  “Why?” Alf asked blankly.

  Brodgar, Broderick's son, looked suddenly elated. “Father! You mean the new destriers...”

  “Are arrived from France. Yes.”

  “Hurray!” he whooped.

  Leona smiled indulgently. The destriers were Broderick's new horses. He had ordered one for himself, and one for his son Brodgar. Horses bred for knights, trained for war, they were at once fearsome allies on the battlefield and indomitable companions. To say nothing of being a sign of immense wealth and status. Though that was not, Leona thought, why Brodgar had wanted one. His preoccupation with the idea of becoming a knight was strong. At twenty years old, with much training already behind him, he could have done it, had he not felt the pressure of ruling already. As the only son of Broderick, Dunkeld would be his one day. He could not go off on ventures simply for fun. It was nice to see him excited about something for once.

  “Should we go down?” Amabel asked, brow raised.

  “Oh, Mother! Yes! Can we?” Brodgar asked.

  “I want to come too,” Amice declared instantly. Sixteen and still hovering on the brink of girlishness and womanhood, Amice was a delight to them all.

  Amabel smiled at her fondly. “Of course you shall.”

  “And Alf?”

  “Let's all go!” Duncan, Leona's father, suggested. Leona looked up with mild protest.

  “Oh, Father. We're only halfway through dinner,” she said.

  “She is right, husband,” Alina observed mildly. “You know how bad it is for the digestion.”

  Duncan smiled. “You are right, sweetheart. Well, then, whoever wants to come and see the horses so badly that they don't mind a bout of indigestion can come down with Broderick and me. The rest can see them later. Probably better not to crowd the poor things in any case,” he added, thinking.

  “Indeed,” Broderick replied.

  “Let's go!” Brodgar, ruggedly handsome and red haired, was already leaping from his place at the table, making Aunt Chrissie giggle.

  “You are excited, son! It makes me want to see what all this is about.”

  Blaine cast a caring glance at her. “Well, no one said we couldn't go along.”

  “Quite so,” Chrissie agreed, standing and pushing in her chair. “If you think two more won't scare them, Broderick?”

  “I'm sure it won't,” Broderick said mildly. He looked inquiringly at Alina and Leona, who were still seated.

  “We're staying here, Broderick,” Alina said peaceably. “No reason to expose the poor creatures to so many at once.”

  “True, true,” he smiled. “Well, then, are we off?”

  “Yes!” Brodgar and Alf yelled, and then giggled helplessly.

  Broderick raised a brow. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said gallantly to Alina and Leona. Amabel had stood, giving her sister a wry glance.

  “If I don't go, they'll never stop going on about the horses. At least if I see them for myself, I'll save hours of being driven quietly mad.”

  Alina laughed. Broderick pulled a hurt face, and they all laughed together.

  The solar was empty save for Alina, Leona and Conn. They all looked at each other and smiled.

  “The sensible ones,” Alina observed mildly.

  They laughed.

  “I chose the best place to stay,” Conn said, his eyes on Leona, who flushed red and looked at her plate. His voice flowed over her like warm syrup, easing her heart. She loved hearing him talk. And he said such lovely things!

  “Leona?”

  Leona looked up to see her mother looking at her, grave and composed as always. Her black hair, touched at one temple with strands of silver, was bound off her forehead with a band of silver thread. The look in her eyes was relaxed and tranquil, yet Leona felt as if she was asking her something.

  “What, Mother?” she asked.

  “I was just wondering if you had any plans for Lammastide,” Alina said mildly. Leona frowned. Lammas, celebrated in midsummer or thereabouts, was within two month's time. Why is Mother asking that now?

  “Not yet, Mother,” she replied carefully.

  “Oh,” her mother said mildly. “Just wondering.”

  Leona frowned. Her mother had foreseen something. She was sure of it. She felt a sense of foreboding, and suddenly in her mind she was sixteen again, with her mother foreseeing something in her future.

  You will travel many waters and there are many paths ahead.

  She shuddered. Wishing that her mother was not quite as gifted as she was, she reached across the table for the platter of bannocks and took one, distracting herself by crumbling off a piece to dip into the leftover gravy.

  At that moment, a guard came into the hall.

  “Lady Alina,” he said, addressing her gravely. “Begging your pardon for disturbing, but there's...a man. Said he wanted to speak with you and your sister, my lady. Alone.”

  “Oh?” Alina raised a dark, sculpted brow. “Well, let him come in. Anything he could say to me he can say in front of these young people just as well.”

  He looked uncomfortable, but stepped aside. A tall, thin man with a grave face and gray hair came in behind him.

  “My lady,” the guard announced, still looking uncomfortable, “I present Monseigneur Montaigne. He has come as an envoy from your uncle, or so he said.”

  “Show him in,” Alina said, standing. With her back straight, black velvet skirts hanging to the floor, she was at her most commanding.

  Leona looked at her, and then studied the man who entered. He was perhaps ten years her father's senior, with gray hair and a lined, lean face. His eyes were brown, heavy-lidded like her mother's own, evidence of her heritage. He had a line down one cheek that could have been a scar left from a sword.

  “Monseigneur,” Alina said gravely. “Welcome. Please, take a seat by the fire. We have little repast to offer a traveler – some cak
es and ale?”

  “Thank you, my lady,” he said gravely. He spoke French, as Alina had.

  Leona strained to listen: her mother and aunt had taught her something of the tongue – their own father was French and they felt it would be advantageous for her to learn it – but her command was not fluent.

  “Now,” Alina said, as she took a seat before him, gesturing for Leona and Conn to join them in the high-backed wooden settee by the fire. “Tell me your news.”

  “My lady,” he said gravely, “it is not good. Forgive me, but I bring the news that your father has died.”

  Alina put her hand on her heart, her face blank, eyes huge. “I...beg pardon, Monseigneur. But...when did it happen?”

  “Last month, in the middle of the season. Forgive me, Madame. My heartfelt condolences.”

  “I...” Alina swallowed, shaking her head. “I'm sorry, Monseigneur. But it is a shock. He was in good health.”

  “He was, milady. It was very sudden. He died of distress of the chest,” he said, placing his hand over his heart, a fist to indicate some pain there.

  Alina shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “This is all quite sudden.”

  Her voice was small and tight and Leona reached out to put her hand over Alina's. She held it, her fingers cold and lifeless.

  “Forgive me,” the envoy said again. His lean face looked distressed. “You are consoled by your family, I think?” he said, indicating Conn and Leona, who sat with her. Conn was frowning gravely, while Leona was bending toward her mother in a concerned way, hands clasped.

  “Conn's not my son,” Alina said lightly. “Sorry; it doesn't matter. You came with a message?” she asked, raising her brow.

  Leona and Conn looked at each other, concern for Leona on both their faces. Then they turned to her.

  “I did,” the messenger said, drawing Leona's gaze to him. “My lady...your uncle, Lord duMas, the count of Annecy following your father's passing – he requested that you come to France.”

  “For the funeral rites?” Alina asked softly.

  “N...no, my lady. To stay.”

  “To stay?” Alina stared at him.

  “He said...he mentioned a daughter? Lady Leona?”

  Leona felt her heart drop through the floor. He’d mentioned her? Why?

  Alina looked at her. She cleared her throat. “I...I am Leona MacConnoway. He mentioned me?”

  “Yes,” the messenger said, licking dry lips. “He mentioned that...he wished that...if you could not go to Annecy, perhaps your daughter would come?”

  Leona stared at him. She looked at Conn.

  Conn went pale. “Leona?” he asked in a small voice.

  “Mother?” Leona said, turning to Alina. Her mother was gray-faced and silent.

  “My child,” she said softly. “I...might you excuse us, Monseigneur Montaigne? I have need to consult with my family alone.”

  “Of course, Madam,” he said gravely.

  “I will have rooms made up for you, sir,” Alina said in the same quiet voice of earlier. “You are welcome to remain with us as long as you would wish.”

  “Thank you, milady,” he replied. “I will remain for...for as long as you need to decide. Though I would wish to be gone within the month.” He sounded hopeful.

  Alina laughed, albeit a light, detached sound. “Of course, sir. I am not so hampered in my decisions as to need so long.”

  Leona looked at her mother, feeling her heart sink through the floor. Her mother was not well. She was in shock, and needed to rest. She took her hand. “Come, Mother,” she said softly. “Let's go upstairs.”

  Alina blinked at her, as if she had only just seen her. “Yes, daughter,” she nodded.

  Together, with Conn a solid presence behind them, they walked up the stairs to the bedchambers.

  “Conn,” Alina said distantly. “Will you fetch my sister? She needs to know.”

  “Of course, Aunt,” Conn said, giving her a bow. He turned and went back down the stairs, leaving Leona and Alina alone.

  “Come, Mother,” Leona said. She led her to her own bedchamber, guided her to sit on the crisp white linen covering the bed. She sat opposite, on the stool before the mirror, and took her hands. “Mother, I'm so sorry.”

  “No, don't be,” Alina said distantly. “I...it was many years since I saw my father. We were not close.”

  “Still, it is a shock to you,” Leona insisted. “You must not expect it not to be.”

  Alina smiled at her daughter, black eyes touched with warmth. “Oh, daughter,” she smiled. “You have wisdom. A brave, kind wisdom. It will serve you well, in time ahead.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Leona said. She squeezed her cold, slender fingers. She had never been that close to her mother, always thinking her rather unworldly and difficult to reach. She and Joanna, her cousin, Amabel's daughter, should have been born reversed, she often thought: Joanna, wise and serene, could have been Alina's daughter, while she herself took more after Amabel.

  “Daughter,” Alina said softly. She chafed her fingers gently with her own long, slim ones. They sat quietly, waiting for Alina and Conn.

  It was only after the footsteps echoed up the hallway, coming toward her bedchamber, that Leona thought to ask what her mother had meant.

  It will serve you well, in times ahead.

  You will travel many paths.

  She shuddered, warding off the sudden chill. She sensed that her mother saw something in her future. She must, or why would she have said such things. It will serve you well, your kind wisdom.

  “Mother?” she asked, frightened.

  However, her mother was looking up, eyes wide, at her sister, who stood at the threshold of the room.

  “Sister,” Amabel said gently.

  “Amabel,” Alina said. “Thank you.”

  “I came as fast as I could,” Amabel said, settling down on the bed beside her sister in a graceful gesture. “I am so sorry.”

  “Oh, sister.”

  The two of them clung together and Leona turned away, giving them the privacy they needed. They held each other, black hair mingling with bright auburn, russet velvet on black as they held each other.

  Leona looked at the door, where Conn waited, looking sheepishly at his hands. Leona felt color flush her cheeks. Conn should, by rights, not be at the door to her chambers.

  Nevertheless, this was an extraordinary event, so the flouting of propriety was not shocking.

  “Conn?” she mouthed.

  He shrugged. She glanced at the two women, who had moved apart now and were talking rapidly and quietly. Leona was not close enough to discern whether French or Scots was being spoken. She went to the door.

  “I can't let you leave,” Conn said softly.

  “I do not wish to,” Leona said.

  He took her hand, callused thumb chafing her knuckles as he rubbed his fingers over the skin, again and again.

  She gazed at him. His pale brown eyes were round and worried. She bit her lip, looking at her hand. She clasped his fingers.

  She knew in her heart that her path was set. Her mind was already decided, even though the decision would hurt awfully.

  She was sailing to France.

  Her mother – always so strong, now suddenly in need – needed her to go.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CONFESSIONS OF THE HEART

  CONFESSIONS OF THE HEART

  Conn left the room, walking downstairs. He walked blindly, not seeing the familiar carvings and tapestries, the beauty of his home. He was in shock.

  “Conn?” Brodgar called cheerily. “Come and see the horses! You missed out.”

  “No, cousin,” Conn said slowly. “I'd rather go walking.” He inclined his head at the stairs that led to the ramparts.

  Brodgar raised a brow. “As you wish, cousin,” he said, sounding upset. Conn bit his lip.

  “I'll go later, Brodgar,” he said, already going up the staircase to the door outside.

  “Alf's still down
there,” Brodgar called cheerily. “Father says we'll put his bed in the stable so he never has to leave there.”

  Conn smiled, though he could not find it in his heart to laugh as much as he usually would at the antics of his younger brother. He went out.

  Outside, the wind caught him, as it always did, taking him by surprise. The day was peaceful, the sky orange where the sun lowered to the horizon, otherwise delicate greens and yellows with the slow onset of dusk.

  He drew his cloak around him, shivering as the breeze buffeted him again. He looked down off the ramparts, far down to the path that led to the castle, the forest a tapestry of gold and pale spring green on the right, stretching as far as the eye saw.

  I can't bear it if she goes!

  He leaned against the wall behind him, fists clenched. He closed his eyes.

  His mind was full of thoughts of Leona; memories from when they were young, playing here in this castle: running from the gate to the courtyard, chasing each other through the forest, climbing onto the stable roofs to see if they could reach the apples in the tree in the kitchen garden beside it.

  Through all the memories, Leona, with her flaming hair and bright eyes, her nimble feet and teasing tongue, was a light, a burning brand that seared into his heart.

  I cannot imagine life without her.

  She was more than his betrothed. She was his friend, his confidante, a part of his soul. She was as necessary as breath to him, her presence as much a part of life.

  I cannot live without her here with me.

  He sighed. Opened his eyes and looked out over the landscape beyond. The sky was pale, now, white with the sunlight's withdrawal. He guessed it to be perhaps two hours to dinner time.

  I should go.

  As if in answer, he heard someone open the door and stick out their head. “Conn?”

  “Alf. I'm here,” he called dully.

  He heard his little brother climb out through the door and felt him join him, coming to lean beside him on the wall, looking across the forested land.

  “Whatever it is that's bothering you,” Alf said quietly, “I'm sure it's not half as bad as you think it is now.”

  Conn blinked. He had not expected his easygoing, fun-loving younger brother to say something so wise. “I don't know, brother,” he said gently.