Highlander’s Evil Side by Shona Thompson

Chapter Four

Fraser

Fraser sighed while pushing his food back and forth on his plate. The Gordons were supposed to arrive three days ago; however, a bird arrived, explaining they were held up by the storms rolling through. Fraser suspected they would be arriving in a day or two. He still didn’t care for the idea of having his mother arrange his marriage without speaking with him first. The idea had him pacing back and forth in his office study, wondering how he would ever find the time to court his new bride while attending to the clan’s needs. For the past ten days, he was swamped with work: meeting with the village heads, discussing the crops, and the worries of brigands stealing from farmers in the dead of night. When he wasn’t in meetings, he was with his men, practicing at the sword in case of battle, leaving his body exhausted when he finally reached his bed. Yet, his mind was filled with doubts and worries.

He wished his father was still alive to guide him through this process; this new duty of being the laird had come to his hands quicker than intended. When he wasn’t thinking about his new bride, wondering what kind of woman she was and if they would get along well, his mind was flooded with fear as to whether he could fill his father’s boots.

The elder Laird MacClery’s death was shocking. Fraser often found himself drifting off into a deep sadness while sitting in the study. Shortly after arriving, his mother had his things moved to his father’s quarters and study. He still felt as if he was invading a terrain he wasn’t meant to approach, feeling as if his father’s soul still haunted the walls.

The doors to the great hall bounded open, thudding against the wall. Fraser straightened in his seat, pushing the half-eaten plate away while a soldier rushed forward, kneeling before him. “My laird, they are here.”

Fraser jumped from his seat, the chair skidding backward and nearly toppling over with the force. “The Gordons?”

“Aye, my laird,” said the soldier while nodding vigorously. “They will be here within the hour.”

“Inform the servants,” he called while stepping around the table and walking briskly towards the doors. His first task was to inform his mother, and then he would need to change. Looking down at his current attire, he frowned at the too-tight leine, hoping the tailor was able to at least make a couple of garments suitable enough to meet his new bride in. He expected she would be exhausted from her journey; however, he still wanted to make a good first impression.

He strode down the halls, wondering where his mother would be at this time. Stalking up the spiraling staircase towards his rooms, he paused mid-step upon looking out a small window, finding the Gordon Clan marching towards them, their blazing flags whipping in the strong wind. The clouds hung low, yet the sun peaked out from behind, shining down upon them. Maybe all will be well, he thought while turning away.

Upon reaching the final step, he heaved a sigh of relief when his gaze landed on his mother slowly striding towards him with her trembling hands clasped in front of her.

“The Gordons are nearly here,” he called while closing the distance between them.

He frowned when his mother didn’t respond, as if she already knew the Gordons were approaching. She was still donned in her black dress. A black shawl covered the top of her head, appearing like she was attending a funeral and not the meeting of her future daughter-in-law.

Fraser worried his mother would never be the same. Her cheerful disposition he recalled from his childhood had completely disappeared, leaving him worried about her state of mind. The past ten days, she had shriveled away from him. He noticed she hardly ate a bite during mealtimes, and her frame became smaller. Perhaps I will have the castle healer attend to her, he thought while forcing a smile.

“I will tell the servants at once,” his mother said, her voice quivering on the words. “The rooms should be well prepared for our guests.”

Fraser nodded. “I must change. Do ye know if the tailor was able to finish any of the garments we discussed?”

His mother smiled, and for a moment, he caught hope as he saw the gleam reach her eyes. She stroked his face, now clean-shaven after his friends’ nonstop jeers about how gruff he had become.

“Ye look so much like yer father,” she whispered, her smile widening for a brief moment.

Her hand jerked away from him while her gaze lowered to the floor. All joy left her, and Fraser felt all hope leaving him once more.

“Be quick, my son,” she said while striding around him towards the staircase. “I believe the tailor left something for ye in yer father—in yer rooms,” she quickly corrected.

Fraser sighed while he watched her go. Perhaps she made this union in order to create some sort of joy in this dismal castle, he thought while striding towards his rooms. Maybe seeing her son wed was exactly the remedy she needed to ease her sorrow.

* * *

Fraser fidgeted in his leine. He was foolish to think the tailor would have constructed something of worth in a mere ten days. The tailor had left samples of patterns and fabrics in his rooms, which meant Fraser had to resort to wearing one of his old garments once more. He chose the most festive fabrics he could find, yet he worried his arms would burst out of the sleeves.

“Son,” his mother whispered as the portcullis rose. “Still yerself. Fidgeting like ye are won’t make a good impression on Lady Gordon.”

Fraser pursed his lips. It was easier said than done. He wondered if it would have been best to wear one of his father’s old leines, yet he couldn’t bring himself to open the dusty trunk. There was something terribly wrong with rifling through his father’s old things, and he was adamant about waiting for the tailor to provide him with something useful to wear. His attire from France would look too out of place in the highlands, and his garments from the road were absolutely destroyed.

All thoughts of garments and his father left his mind as his gaze landed on the beauty riding at the front of the escort. His breath left his lungs, and he wondered if he would ever be able to breathe again. The lady before him appeared like none he had ever gazed upon. Her brown hair was in a plait going down the length of one shoulder while her blue eyes glimmered in the light. His gaze drifted to her lips, red like the roses blooming in the French palace gardens.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she approached the keep, riding side-saddle with her head held tall. It was as if she already held the Lady MacClery title in her white-knuckled grasp. Her sapphire gaze scoured the courtyard, assessing the shadowed walls surrounding them. They lingered for a moment on the path leading into the garden before turning towards the barrage of men leaving the barracks to make her acquaintance. He waited for her to meet his gaze, yet her attention was caught by his mother, trembling by his side. Following the lady’s gaze, he frowned while watching his mother nibble on her bottom lip, her hand clutching at the shawl. His mother appeared concerned, but he didn’t understand why.

This was the woman she had wanted him to marry. Why would she be worried?

His gaze returned to Lady Gordon. His hands clenched around the bouquet of wildflowers he held behind his back. After donning his clothes, he had quickly plucked the flowers from the garden, hoping the bouquet would ease her nerves. However, seeing his future bride riding before him now, he couldn’t see any nerves that needed easing, only fire lurking beyond her gaze. She appeared to be going to war, with her chin jutting out and her gaze narrowing. The blue of her gown brought out her eyes, and though the chair on the horse kept her chastity in place, he could still make out the sole of her boot.

He shook his head, reminding himself that staring was impolite before forcing a smile at the man riding next to her. The Laird of Gordon, Fraser surmised while he watched the man come to a halt before him. The laird was dressed in a similar blue leine and dark wool stockings. He was a large man with a bushy grey beard and grey streaking his dark hair. Fraser could see the slight resemblance between father and daughter, noting they shared the same shade of blue eyes. He watched the laird dismount easily, his thick boots thumping against the cobblestones before striding towards his daughter.

Fraser held back his chuckle while the stable master waved his hand at the lady’s chair, trying to find the right words yet failing miserably. He could hardly blame the man. It wasn’t common to see a woman riding side-saddle. Fraser had only heard of a few women accomplishing the act, and they were all strong queens.

He supposed his future bride also had their determined temperament, which intrigued him all the more.

Lady Gordon was quite a tenacious one, he decided, and as he watched her dismount from her horse, he couldn’t help the desire pooling within him. Not only was she a beauty, but he enjoyed seeing the strength exuded in her manner. She walked with her head held high, her stride purposeful as she approached the keep. Clearly, she chose to ride on her own for a reason. First impressions were important, after all. Perhaps she knew how to read, and if she did not, he would rectify it at once. He hoped she wouldn't be just his wife but a partner he could rely on in times of need.

“Beitris,” he heard Laird Gordon say harshly as if scolding her.

Beitris, Fraser repeated in his head, enjoying the way her name tickled his ears. He watched Beitris’s approach slow, her hand now on her father’s arm while her eyes glanced from his mother to him. For a moment, he wondered what she thought as she looked upon him. She seemed to appraise him until her eyes suddenly widened with alarm and horror. His brow furrowed in worry, wondering if she was suddenly feeling nervous at meeting him this way. He supposed it would have been better if they had a proper introduction before. Still, Fraser hoped they would spend the next several days courting each other before the wedding. Maybe they wouldn’t fall in love, but perhaps they could be friendly with each other.

His stomach churned when she refused to move any closer. He was vaguely aware of Laird Gordon speaking. The words flowed through one ear and out the other while he watched Beitris glance over her shoulder. Was something wrong? he wondered. He had half a mind to smell his leine but stopped himself. His clothes were fine, he told himself. They were a bit tight, but he had ensured they didn’t smell of musk.

Did she find him unappealing to look upon?

“‘Tis a pleasure to see the both of ye at long last,” came his mother’s voice, slightly louder than needed, as if reminding him that at some point he needed to speak to both the laird and his daughter. “I am Lady Helga of MacClery.”

Fraser shook himself from his thoughts and bowed low. “And I am the Laird of the MacClery Clan.” Maybe she needed some time to get used to him, he thought. “Ye may call me Fraser, if ye wish. I pray the journey was in yer favor?”

“Aye, it was,” said Laird Gordon.

Once again, the laird’s booming voice continued on, but Fraser was no longer paying attention. His attention was caught by his future bride’s deep frown and dark glare.

Had he already offended her? Was he that homely to look upon? His hand tightened on the bouquet he hid behind his back. He had been away from Scotland for so long; maybe he simply forgot the ways of highland women. They were built a bit stronger than the women he met in France, given the drizzly weather and the constant battles over land. From what he remembered, they were quite straightforward as well, which he preferred, given the constant mind games the French and Edinburgh court provided, leaving him frustrated. At least he and Beitris would be able to speak freely amongst themselves.

“Thanks be to the heavens,” Fraser murmured once the laird finished talking.

His lips parted, and he tried to think of anything that would make her frown lift into a bright smile. He knew this was difficult for her: being in a foreign place with people she did not know. By marrying him, she would be leaving behind her friends, her clan, her family. The flowers, he told himself. Give her the flowers.

He stepped forward, holding out the bouquet of flowers while saying as gently as possible, “For ye, my lady.”

But she did not approach. Beitris stared at the flowers as if they were black and wilted—as if he was offering her a bag of rotten apples rather than a bouquet filled with pink and lavender blossoms.

“Beitris,” Laird Gordon said harshly.

He watched his intended stumble forward and snatch the bouquet from his grasp. Without thinking, he took her hand, holding it gently. “It is a pleasure to meet ye, Lady Beitris,” he said before grazing his lips against her knuckles.

Her hand slipped from his grasp, and before he knew it, he felt something hard sting against his cheek with a resounding slap. He blinked, not quite understanding what happened. Pain singed into his skin. His hand lightly touched his cheek, wincing at the bite spreading through the area.

“Beitris!” Laird Gordon shouted while Fraser’s mother gasped.

Fraser turned toward her. His mouth hung open in shock, not knowing what to say. “Thank ye,” he murmured, his brows furrowing in confusion at his own words.

Thank ye?he asked himself. Why in the heavens would he ever say ‘thank ye’? Clearly, something was wrong with him if he was thanking the lass for harming him.

“My apologies,” said Laird Gordon, looking horrified while glancing between Fraser and his own daughter. “I don’t know what has come over her. She—”

Fraser forced a smile. “Apologies are not needed,” he said while at the same time wondering what in heaven’s name his mother got him into. He glanced at his mother, watching her hand slowly lower from her mouth before returning his gaze back to Beitris. He smiled tightly, the act forced and hard to keep as he regarded Beitris. There was something definitely wrong with this lady. He had never been smacked before, although he had seen it from the cads and scoundrels lurking in the pubs, forcing themselves on women.

“Lady Beitris is clearly tired from her long journey,” he said, choosing his words carefully in order to save face. “Perhaps she’s a wee upset by how our union is organized. I thank ye for reminding me of my place.” He nodded towards Beitris, whose scowl grew darker. “We must get to know each other better before we-we—” he waved his hand as he searched for the words, “exchange pleasantries. I’m sure after we’ve spoken a bit more, all will be well.”

Fraser didn’t understand why Beitris was so angry. Here he was, making excuses for her impolite decorum, and still, she appeared to be holding herself back from smacking him again. She was a beauty, but he worried about her sanity.

“Still, please forgive me,” said Laird Gordon while bowing low. “My daughter has spent her life without a mum. She only knows what I have taught her, and I fear I have misled her—"

Fraser held up a hand, and Laird Gordon’s mouth instantly closed. “‘Tis alright.” He turned around, nodding to a group of servants standing behind him. Their mouths were still parted in shock while they stared at Beitris in horror.

So much for having a celebration in their honor. He doubted his intended would enjoy anything he had planned for her.

“Please see to the lady and laird,” Fraser said to the servants. “Draw a bath and ensure they have settled into their rooms properly before the feast tonight.”

“Yes, my laird,” the servants said in unison while curtsying.

Fraser took several steps back, making as much space between him and his intended as possible to ensure his other cheek didn’t meet the same demise. Beitris shot him another foul look before following her father and the servants into the castle’s keep. His gaze swiveled to his mother, who held a hand in front of her mouth while she watched both father and daughter. Slowly, he approached her, waiting for the doors to close.

“She’s bonnie, isn’t she?” his mother rushed out while forcing a smile.

“Aye, that she is,” Fraser said between clenched teeth.

“This is good. Yer union will make a wonderful alliance.”

“I’m sure it will.”

His mother nodded. “Eventually, the both of ye will—" His mother grimaced, unable to continue whatever it was she intended to say.

Fraser sighed and shook his head. “Ye have very successfully found me the maddest wife in all the highlands, Mother.”