Taming the Highland Bride.

Lynsay Sands.

For Gran.

Prologue.

M erewen Stewart stabbed the needle into the cloth and tugged it out the other side with an irritated jerk. She was in a foul mood and, as usual, the fault for that lay with her father and two brothers. Unfortunately, the Stewart men liked their drink. Equally unfortunately, while they were lambs when sober and only stupid and clumsy on ale, they were downright mean on whiskey. So, of course, whiskey was their drink of preference, which meant Merry often found herself standing between them and the rest of the clan. Her first lesson on taking over as chatelaine at Stewart Castle had been to arm herself with something heavy when they got like that. Fortunately, her doing so was often enough to keep them in line. However, their whiskey-sharpened tongues could be cutting, and the very threat of violence that shimmered in the air on those occasions was frightening to deal with.

Merry had spent the last six years doing all she could to keep them from drinking the whiskey the Stewart clan made and sold. She'd taken to locking it away in the pantry, keeping the only key to that lock on her person at all times. But they just rode out to the inn in the village, or to Colan Gow's to partake of his whiskey. She then was left to deal with whatever chaos they created when they returned intoxicated. That had been the pattern since her mother's death six years ago...Until last week. Last week they'd returned from a visit with Colan Gow so drunk she'd been amazed that they hadn't broken their fool necks on the ride home. She was even more amazed when they still wanted more drink.

Merry had refused them the key to the pantry and suggested they find their beds. She'd then ordered the servants to make themselves scarce and retired herself, hoping that would be the end of it. It hadn't. The three men decided to take battle-axes to the pantry door. The racket had brought her from her bed to find they'd hacked their way through the thick wooden door and were inside, breaking open the casks of whiskey. When she'd tried to stop them, her brother Brodie had pushed her away and raised his axe threateningly as he told her not to interfere.

There'd been nothing else for her to do but to leave them to it. What had followed was nearly a week of them bingeing on their treasure while Merry and the servants had done their best to stay out of harm's way. The trio had drunk until they pa.s.sed out, and then woke to immediately begin drinking again.

On the third day, Brodie had cuffed one of the kitchen boys who had been foolish enough to return before she gave the all-clear and then had not moved quickly enough for her brother's liking. Fortunately, Merry had been close enough she'd managed to intervene after only the first blow, and while the lad had suffered a b.l.o.o.d.y nose, he'd also learned a valuable lesson. She doubted he'd ever return to the keep before he was sure it was safe to do so.

On the fourth night Gawain had nearly set the stables ablaze when he'd dropped a torch in the stack of hay in his own horse's stall. However, the stable master had managed to get Gawain and his mount out uninjured and even put out the fire before it spread beyond the one stall.

But it was her father, Eachann, who had committed the sin that upset her most. On the fifth and final day of their drinking, in a maudlin moment of whiskey-fueled grief, he'd taken her mother's portrait from its place above the fireplace to whisper weepy words of longing to it. Then he tripped over his own feet and destroyed the painting when he fell on top of one of the fireside chairs. The chair back had torn through the portrait's face and upper body as surely as a sword. Sent into a sudden fury, her father had then smashed the chair and thrown it into the great hall fireplace. The picture, ruined in his opinion, had followed.

Merry had tried to prevent it, but had been struck to the floor for her efforts. By the time she'd managed to regain her feet, the painting was on top of the chair on the fire, burning merrily away. She'd dropped back to kneel in the rushes and simply wept at the loss of this one and only portrayal that existed of her dearly departed mother, Maighread Stewart.

Once Merry's tears had dried, her grief had been replaced by fury, not just at her father but at both her brothers as well. They ruined everything. There was little left at Stewart that was not mended after one of them had broken it...including her heart.

That last incident had moved her father to swear off drink again, and the binge had finally ended three days ago. But the men had spent the time since then doing nothing but moan and whine about their aching heads and nauseous stomachs. Merry had little sympathy, and had simply gone about running the castle as usual, directing the servants and soldiers and overseeing the men at practice in the bailey while her father and brothers recuperated. She also had the pantry door repaired and a new lock placed on it.

For all the good that would do, she thought bitterly. Merry had no doubt once her father and brothers had done what they considered was enough penance, they'd return to the drink like long-lost lovers. They always did.

"Here they come."

Merry glanced up from her mending at her maid, Una's, words, her mouth compressing as she saw the three men crossing the great hall toward them.

"Shall I-"

"You'd best go to the kitchens for a bit, Una," Merry interrupted as she noted her brothers were swaggering somewhat. They only did that when they'd been drinking.

"I'm staying," Una said firmly. "You-"

"Go," Merry said firmly.

Una hesitated, but then clucked her tongue with exasperation and stood to head for the kitchens, muttering, "Fine. But I'm watching from the door, and if that devil Brodie tries to threaten ye again like he did with the axe, I'm grabbing the heaviest pan Cook has and coming out here to put him in his place."

Merry shook her head, an affectionate smile briefly claiming her lips as she watched the curvaceous and freckled strawberry blond go. They had grown up together and were more friends than maid and mistress. That friendship had been a real source of strength for Merry these last years, and was the reason she'd sent Una away. Una was very protective of her and could sometimes overstep herself in an effort to protect Merry. All that did was raise her brothers' ire and make the situation worse.

"Merry."

She turned reluctantly to her father and brothers, noting that while her father's expression was diffident, Brodie and Gawain both wore eager expressions that warned the trio was up to no good. She glared at the three of them until they began to fidget before finally snapping, "What is it?"

Her father glanced to the younger men behind him and then took a deep breath and stammered, "I-Ye see-Well-"

Merewen's mouth tightened. The man couldn't even get out whatever lie he and her brothers had concocted to get into the whiskey. He kept pausing and licking his lips, his expression getting more desperate until she wanted to slap him soundly. Merry was heartily sick of dealing with the trio.

"I-Ye see-" her father said nervously, trying again. He then paused once more.

No doubt his brain was still pickled from their latest drinking binge. If it was not permanently so now, Merry thought with disgust, and set down her sewing to get angrily to her feet. "Let me guess. I heard the shout that a rider approached. 'Tis our neighbor Colan, isna it? And, no doubt, ye're thinkin' his arrival a grand excuse to open another cask o' whiskey."

"Aye," her father breathed, and then straightened abruptly when her brother Brodie elbowed him in the back. "I mean, nay. I mean, aye, Colan has come, but 'tis no' his arrival worthy of breakin' the seal on another cask o' whiskey, 'tis the grand news he brings."

"And what news is this?" Merry asked dryly, not expecting much in the way of news at all. Colan's arrival with a tale of how he'd caught a hare while hunting a week earlier was enough to rouse the Stewart men to celebration.

"Yer betrothed is returned from Tunis," Gawain blurted before their father could continue his stammering.

Merry was so startled by this news she dropped to sit on the bench again. Her eyes widened as her dazed mind tried to accept what was truly news of some magnitude. In fact, it was a dream come true. A very old dream. In the years just before and just after her mother's death, Merry had spent a good deal of time imagining what her future husband would look like and what sort of man he'd be. In her imagination, he'd been handsome and fine, and he'd ridden into Stewart, swept her up on his horse, and carried her away to a better life. But that had been years ago. As summer after summer had pa.s.sed bringing excuse after excuse for why he couldn't collect her that year, those dreams had faded and died, and she'd begun to think he would never come, that she was destined to be an old maid, chasing her father and brothers around until she or they died.

Recalling those excuses now, Merry narrowed her eyes on the trio before her and said, "'Tisn't true."

"Aye, it is," Brodie and Gawain said as one and rushed around their father to sit on either side of her, their expressions eager and full of glee.

"He got word of his father's death and returned to take up the reins," Brodie said happily. "And now he needs to produce an heir."

"So he's ready to settle down and marry now," Gawain added.

"Is that not flattering," Merry muttered.

"Aye," Brodie said, apparently missing the sarcasm in her voice. "So we're to travel to England at once fer ye to marry him. We celebrate tonight and leave first thing on the morrow."

Merry snapped out of her surprise to glare at them again. "Oh. Aye, nay doubt ye'd like that. Hustle me off to England to marry the blackguard now he's deigned to return. Surely that's something to celebrate. Ye'll be free o' me."

Her brothers exchanged a glance before Brodie quickly a.s.sured her, "Oh, nay, Merry, we're no' happy about it. Why, without ye here, who will nag us out o' our beds on a morning?"

"Aye, and who will keep us from drinkin' to our hearts' content?" Gawain asked.

"And who will mither us to train at battle and go on the hunt and so on?" their father, Eachann, asked.

Merry turned hard eyes from one man to another. Despite their claims of not wanting her gone, their eager smiles suggested otherwise. Well, it was no more than what she wanted herself. She would love a life where she did not have to chase after these three and try to keep them from killing themselves or someone else. However, they were out of luck. "Aye, well, I'm sure ye'll no' have to face those worries any time soon. Me betrothed has taken his sweet time returning from the Crusades, and nay doubt he'll take his sweet time coming to claim me, too. And until he does, ye're stuck with me," she announced grimly and picked up her mending again.

A pregnant silence surrounded her. Merry was sure they were exchanging panicked glances, but didn't trouble herself to look up and see. She knew they would not stop there when they were so tantalizingly close to having their deepest wish of being rid of her fulfilled.

"Aye, but Merry," Eachann Stewart said finally, "'tis no' that we want ye to travel to England to be wed, but-"

"'Tis his wish," Gawain said abruptly.

Merry raised her head slowly to scour each man with suspicion. "His wish?"

"Aye. Well, as ye say, he's been away a long time. Three years," Brodie pointed out. "And I gather d'Aumesbery knew not about his father's death and that his absence left his stepmother in charge. Ye ken a female can't run a keep like a man, there is much to set to rights at d'Aumesbery."

Merry's mouth flattened out so much she was sure her lips were no longer even visible. Women couldn't run a keep? Her sainted mother, Maighread, had run Stewart until her death, and then Merry had taken over at sixteen. She'd had to; she'd promised on her mother's deathbed to look out for her father and brothers and run Stewart. The promise had been to do so until either her father died and her eldest brother, Kade-the only sober male in her family-took over as laird, or she married and moved away.

Merry had done her best to keep that promise. However, while she had run Stewart and done her best to keep her father and brothers away from whiskey, she couldn't keep them from the ale. Fortunately, they were more amiable drunks on ale, but the three men were still often too drunk or too hung over to manage making any sensible decision. And even when they weren't, they were pretty much useless, just wandering around whining about how they had a thirst for whiskey and complaining about her keeping it from them. The three were weak, silly creatures who were nothing but a trial to her. But they were her family.

"Aye, d'Aumesbery canna take time away just now," Gawain a.s.sured her. "But he wishes to marry ye as soon as possible and sent word asking us to travel there fer the wedding."

"It seems a grand idea," her father put in. "After all, it means he has to supply the wedding feast and it saves us a load o' bother, doesna it?"

"Aye," Gawain said quickly. "'Twill save you all the trouble of arrangin' a feast and preparin' fer guests and so on."

"So, we'll leave first thing on the morrow. Aye?" Brodie said hopefully.

It seemed to Merry that the three men were almost holding their breath in antic.i.p.ation of her answer. She could feel their eagerness for her agreement, and that alone almost made her say no. But were she to do so and force her betrothed to come collect her as was proper, she would only be spiting herself. Truly, running herd on a bunch of drunken louts was not fun, and while she would worry about them all, she had no more desire to stay than they apparently had for her to do so. Marriage, hopefully to a responsible, nondrinking man who actually kept his promises instead of forgetting them the moment they were spoken-as her father and brothers were wont to do-would be heaven to her mind. Still, Merry didn't put them out of their misery at once. They had made her life a living h.e.l.l these last six years and, shameful as it was to admit, she was enjoying their suffering now. So instead of answering, she returned her attention to her mending, fed the needle through the material, and slowly drew it out.

"Merry?" Brodie prompted impatiently.

"I am thinking," she snapped, not looking up from her efforts.

"But Merry, he's sent fer ye," Gawain said.

"Aye," her father muttered. "And ye're well past marrying age."

"Well past." Brodie agreed. "Diya no' think we should-"

"I canna think with the three of ye nattering at me," Merry insisted firmly and kept her head bent to her sewing as she tried to decide how long to leave them hanging before agreeing. The longer she kept them waiting, the longer she could keep them away from the whiskey and, she hoped, the less drunk they could get this night. On the other hand, she had to pack and prepare for the journey. The thought made her sigh. Her life had often seemed an effort to balance on a needle point. It appeared her last night in this, her old life, would be no different. Merry just hoped her new life held more joy for her.

chapter One.

Y ou should have the blacksmith see to that."

Alexander d'Aumesbery stopped rubbing his jaw and shrugged. "I have no time for it now."

Gerhard Abernathy clucked with impatience. "That tooth has been bothering you since we left Tunis. You should have had it tended the moment we landed back in England, not let it drag on paining you."

Alex smiled affectionately at the older man. Gerhard had always been one of his father's most trusted and faithful soldiers. It was why his father had insisted that the warrior accompany Alex when the prince asked Alex to travel with him to Tunis to join the Crusades. Gerhard obliged, joining him willingly, though Alex often wondered if he'd regretted it since. None of them had expected to remain away so long. Indeed, after just one year, Prince Edward had returned to take the throne on his father's death. But he'd asked Alex to remain in his place and so he-and his men-had stayed behind to carry on the losing battle. It had meant two more years of heat and sand and blood.

During that time, Gerhard had been his friend, his counsel, and at times his nursemaid, mothering him when he was injured or struck down by fever, watching his back in battle, and offering his wisdom when it came to important decisions.

Alex honestly didn't think he'd have survived without him, and he wished his father were still alive so that he could thank him for making him take Gerhard along. Young and arrogant at the time, he'd seen Gerhard-a mere ten years older than he-as old. He'd thought the man would slow him down and be a bother. He couldn't have been more wrong. Gerhard had saved his life more than once, and had become a friend.

"I have had too much to do to bother with it," Alex said now. "I shall tend to it when we get back from Donnachaidh."

"You should tend to it ere visiting your sister and that Devil she married," Gerhard insisted.

"I already sent word to Donnachaidh accepting my new brother-in-law's invitation. I didn't realize then how much work was needed here," Alex said, and scowled as he glanced around the great hall. The large room was nearly empty, an oddity considering the size of the castle and the number of people it held. The great hall had always been a busy, noisy area when he was growing up, and had remained so even after his mother's death and his father's marriage to Edda. Now, however, it was empty and silent as a tomb.

"I suppose you'll be collecting your betrothed on the way back?" Gerhard commented.

"Aye," Alex muttered, peering down into his ale. It was not a ch.o.r.e he was looking forward to. The marriage contract had been arranged and signed when he was still a boy. He probably should have married the girl before heading to Tunis, but had managed to put it off at the time. He'd expected his father to make a fuss about it, but the man had said the same thing he'd always said when Alex had found an excuse to avoid the marriage. "Plenty of time for that later, son." Having thought about that and the fact that his father had never even taken him to meet his betrothed while growing up, Alex suspected his father had come to regret making the match and would have canceled the contract if he could. However, there had been a penalty clause in the contract for such an action that was so exorbitant it would have beggared them. And still would, Alex thought unhappily.

"Well?" Gerhard asked. "Are you collecting her or not?"

"Aye," he said finally. "The Stewarts are not far from Donnachaidh, so I guess I shall have to collect her on the return journey."

"You do not sound eager," Gerhard pointed out with amus.e.m.e.nt, and teased, "Do I sense a little reluctance to claim your betrothed?"

"They call her the Stewart Shrew," Alex pointed out dryly. "The name does not suggest a sweet, biddable bride and helpmate."

"Aye, and the last thing you need around here are more problems," Gerhard said sympathetically, and then shook his head. "These last three years I have pined for home, but now we're here, I find myself thinking almost longingly of the dry heat and b.l.o.o.d.y battle we left behind in Tunis."

"Edda has that effect on a person," Alex said grimly, glancing around to be sure his stepmother was not within hearing distance. He didn't care for the woman, but wouldn't deliberately insult her.

"She's not so bad," Gerhard said, making Alex's eyebrows fly up with surprise. Shrugging, the man said, "She and your father were not well-matched. He loved your mother dearly and could not see past his grief to the young bride he had when the king forced their marriage. As for Edda, she was miserable being stuck up here in Northern England with a neglectful husband after being feted and pampered at court. I suspect she was overwhelmed by all the responsibility that landed on her shoulders when your father died and the running of the castle fell to her. No doubt that was the reason behind her harsh treatment of the servants while we were away."

"Hmm," Alex muttered. It was exactly what Edda had said in her own defense when he'd returned home to find half the servants fled and the other half preparing to do so. It was not the homecoming he'd hoped for. He'd returned to learn his father was dead, his sister married off to the Devil of Donnachaidh, and the castle half empty. He'd spent the week since arriving home trying to get things in order and convincing the servants to return, promising to provide them with better living conditions and to keep Edda under control.

Alex could have simply ordered them to return. They had sworn fealty to his family, after all, but his father had taught him that an unhappy worker made a poor worker and that he should respect even the lowliest servant. So he'd made no threats, but instead offered promises he intended to keep. Fortunately, he'd managed to get all but a couple he hadn't yet found to take up their positions again. He had even returned order to d'Aumesbery, at least as much as he thought was necessary before he could take the time out to go see his sister and be sure she was all right. He had worried about Evelinde ever since arriving at d'Aumesbery to learn she'd been married off to the Devil of Donnachaidh, and frankly, her well-being was more important to him at the moment.

Alex couldn't believe that Edda had allowed her to be married off to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The man hadn't been born with the name the Devil of Donnachaidh, he'd earned it. He was reputed to be completely merciless in battle, and a stern laird to his people. He'd also gone through one wife already who had fallen off a cliff to her death under what could only be called suspicious circ.u.mstances. The rumors claimed the Laird of Donnachaidh had been seen riding away from the scene around the time of her death. This was the man Edda had allowed Evelinde to be married to.

The thought made him again glance around for his stepmother. Alex didn't know what to think where the woman was concerned. Edda had never been a very warm, kind person. She'd always seemed to resent her life here, but now that he was back, she appeared to be making an effort. He could almost like the woman she'd been since his return. The fact that she'd let Evelinde be married to the Devil of Donnachaidh, however, plus the wary way the servants all watched her, troubled him. He wondered just how bad she'd been while he was away, and how much of her new att.i.tude he could trust.

Alex would know more once he'd spoken to his sister. It was another reason he was eager to make the journey. He would have left at once, had he not needed to get the servants back and decide which of his men to leave in charge while he made the trip. In the normal course of events, Gerhard-as his first-should have been the one left in charge. The man would make a great castellan, he was sure, but Alex found himself reluctant to leave him behind. He depended on his wise counsel and suspected he would need it for this visit, in his dealings with both the Devil of Donnachaidh and his own betrothed.

Alex didn't expect either meeting to go well. He knew he could be a bit hotheaded at times, and loved his sister enough that, did he find Evelinde miserable or abused by her husband, he knew he would be tempted to skewer the man on the spot. Such rash action was likely to see him cut down by one of the laird's men seeking retribution. Gerhard was extremely levelheaded, weighing the pros and cons of everything, and had managed to temper Alex's rashness in the past with wise words. Alex was counting on that when he met up with his sister's husband.

And then there was his betrothed. The Stewart Shrew. Merewen Stewart had been called that since she was sixteen or younger. It was part of the reason he had never been overly eager to claim her. The t.i.tle didn't suggest a sweet, biddable bride, and he suspected she would be difficult to deal with. Gerhard might have some suggestions there that could come in useful, too.

Nay, he wouldn't leave the man behind to act as castellan, which meant he'd had to train someone else for the task ere he could leave. He'd chosen John, a steady, dependable sort with a level head, and after a week of training him, now felt comfortable leaving him in charge. Last night Alex had announced that they would ride out for Donnachaidh today, and he had no intention of allowing anything to interfere with that plan, not even a nagging toothache.

One of the maids arrived at the table with a tray of cheese and bread for Alex and Gerhard to break their fast. Feeling his stomach rumble, he thanked the girl and began to look over the offering.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

Alex glanced up to see Edda crossing the hall toward the table. She was smiling cheerfully as she'd never done when he was younger, but a smile seemed ever-present on her face since his return. It actually made her more attractive than he'd ever thought she could be. With oddly thinning long brown hair and several teeth missing, Edda would never be pretty, but she was positively ugly when she wore the pinched expression he'd known her to wear before he'd left on the Crusades.

"I see you are just breaking your fast. Good. Then I am not as late rising as I thought. I..." She paused and blinked in surprise as she peered more closely at Alex. "Why Alex, your face is swollen. Did you suffer an injury?"