Page 7 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

Margaret sank back into the threadbare chair, hoping that it would somehow swallow her whole. If Isobel openly refused to accept what was a fairly simple punishment for the actions of her clan, then the queen’s anger would be untamable. No mercy would be given to any with the name of Gunn.

“What exactly is it that you are proposing, then? The queen ordered for your daughter to wed the Mackay. Will she be content with your niece?”

“Probably not,” her uncle admitted, tapping the tips of his fingers together in thought. “But you do look like me, and none from Clan Mackay have ever met Isobel. If I introduce you to them as my daughter, they will have no reason not to believe it.”

Margaret pressed her face into her hands. It was a foolish plan, so full of cracks that there was no way it would ever hold, but was there any other option?

“No,” Margaret said, the word coming out of her mouth as much as a surprise to her as it was to her uncle. But it felt right, all the same.

Rather than yell, as she expected him to do, her uncle leaned back in his chair and said, “Your father always boasted that you were the most like him out of all of his children. Tis the only reason I bothered coming, for only your father was both clever and resilient enough to see a plan like this succeed. How disappointing to find that in being most like your father, you are still so… average.”

Margaret felt every hair on her body stand on edge as the heat of her mortification rose through her like a volcanic eruption. “How dare—”

“Your father,” her uncle interrupted, his voice laced with contempt, “said that no good businessman would say the word no. They would simply name their price. So, Margaret, will you prove my last comment by storming out of the room, or will you name a price?”

Of course, he would use her father’s favorite phrase against her. But how did he expect her to just immediately determine the value of her life? It was an impossible exercise, and her head ached as a thousand thoughts ran through her head, each bleeding and slipping into the other until her mind was merely a muddy puddle.

“A few fine gowns? Jewels?” her uncle pressed, amusement filling his gaze as he watched her flounder before him like a fish caught in a net.

“Of course not!” Margaret snapped. Does he think that I am that foolish? Margaret thought before it hit her: he did think she was that foolish. Just like the men on the docks, he was underestimating her. That realization settled her, righting the chaos in her mind as suddenly everything became so clear.

Her uncle was still looking amused as Margaret straightened herself and cleared her throat. “I’ll not ask for gowns and jewels because you are already certain to be giving those to me.”

“Will I?”

“Aye. You ken by simply looking around this room that I am unlikely to own anything so fine, and I am quite certain that the Mackays would find it hard to believe that the daughter of Laird Gunn would be allowed to wear clothes that were—now how did you put it? Ah, yes—not even suited to cleaning your floor.”

Margaret expected the humor to fade from her uncle’s eyes, but it lingered, his smile twitching with the temptation to broaden. “What, then?”

“You’ll take Mariah and Laura back to your home. Raise them as your own, give them jobs and treat them like maids, do whatever you wish with them so long as they are fed, sheltered, and properly clothed until such a time comes that they choose to leave on their own. And you’ll also convince the Mackays to retain Ann as my personal servant.”

Her uncle pondered for a moment, tapping his chin as he appraised her. “Fine, but I will no longer send an allowance to your brother.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“So, you’ll not be upset when your brother drinks and gambles your home away?”

“This house stopped being a home a long time ago,” Margaret said. “Besides, I’ll be living in some Mackay castle. What do I care if this house still stands?”

To that her uncle actually chuckled, shaking his head as he reached forward. “Well then, Margaret, do we have a deal?”

“Aye.” Margaret clasped his arm. “We have a deal.”

2

The hooves of the horse thudded through the grass, kicking at the white-topped dandelions and sending the little florets dancing through the air around them, making it look as if he was riding upon a cloud. Alexander Mackay led his horse, which was already slick with sweat from the late summer ride through the Highlands, up to the crest of the hill, and looked down at the valley of Braemore.

A creek slipped through the valley, slipping this way and that as the hills allowed. And, along the water’s edge, surrounded by a garden of bright flowers and produce planted in neat little rows, was a massive stone house. Children dashed from the door of the house and out into the yard, weaving around women as they carried baskets of food and laundry, a small pack of pups hot on their heels as they tried to join the young masters at play.

Alexander pursed his lips. He hated to admit it, but there was something idyllic about the home of his enemies.

Perhaps the woman inside will be idyllic too, Alexander thought, though he quickly dismissed it. It was a useless endeavor to hope for Lady Gunn to be anything but a burden upon his life.

“Donna look so glum,” came a man’s voice from behind him. “I have found that the queen is a rather adept matchmaker.”

Alexander rolled an annoyed look over to Rob Fraser, who was riding up to join him at the top of the hill, a subtle tick of a smile on his face. Rob was one of the queen’s most loyal men, proving his worth to her during the Gordon Rebellion, all while overcoming missteps and misunderstandings that threatened to undermine his relationship with the queen and her court. But even prior to the Gordon Rebellion, Rob had earned a reputation for being one of the most formidable swordsmen in the Highlands; the kind of man that you would not want as an enemy if you wished to die of old age. Alexander, who had been friendly with Rob since he had been but a wee lad, could hardly see any danger in the man that was always so quick to flash him an ever so slightly lopsided smile.

“Has lightning begun to strike the same place twice?” Alexander asked.