Page 74 of Claimed Highland Brides

Lord Delwyn bowed to them all before turning back to Jamesina as if waiting for more.

She put a hand on her chest. “I am Jamesina Douglass, that is Fenella, Maisie, and the young one ye overheard is Ùna.”

Simon stepped in between them. “We should keep going, Mistress Douglass, or we shall be very late for the ceremony.”

Jamesina quirked an eyebrow at his formality but turned obediently to resume walking. Lord Delwyn fell in step beside her, leaving enough room for propriety between them. The group walked on in silence for a while.

“Please do not let me stop you from your story, sir. I was quite enjoying it as well. I haven’t had occasion to hear many Scottish tales.”

“I wasnae telling it tae ye,” Duncan said rather grumpily.

“Well, I want to hear the end too!” Ùna piped up.

Everyone laughed and Duncan resumed his story of the doomed rider and how he had drowned in a stone trough after a group of Highlanders tried to save him from going in the river and meeting his fate with the kelpie that resided therein.

Ùna’s hand crept into Jamesina’s as the story came to its gruesome conclusion, her eyes wide and scared as they looked up at her big sister.

“Dinnae be fashit. It wilnae happen t’ye,” Jamesina murmured softly to her.

To her surprise, the Englishman got down on his haunches so that he was level with Ùna. He reached out his hand to her. “Let me see your palm,” he said.

Ùna blinked at him for a moment before holding out her hand to him. Jamesina’s own hand jerked as if to stop her, and the Englishman’s eyes rose to meet hers. “I mean her no harm. Nor any of you,” he said before taking Ùna’s hand in his and peering at it intently.

“Ah,” he said as if he had received some revelation. “See here, your lifeline.” He traced one of the lines on Ùna’s palm with his finger, “A long one it is too. You shall live a long time. Don’t fear that the kelpie will come for you.”

Jamesina’s heart melted at his perceptiveness.

“But…what aboot my sisters?” Ùna asked anxiously.

The Englishman got to his feet. “I’m quite sure that their lines are just as long as yours.”

“Longer even,” Fenella interjected.

Everybody laughed.

The party resumed walking in a much more relaxed manner. The Englishman turned to Simon, asking a question about his sword, and soon they were discussing the various differences between English and Scottish weaponry while Fenella and Maisie badgered Duncan for another story and Ùna speculated to Jamesina about what the rest of the lines on her hand might mean. Jamesina was torn between listening to her sister and watching the Englishman.

He seemed very much at home in their company and she wondered truly who he might be and why he was here. Most of the English in the highlands were soldiers in her majesty’s army or merchants who tended to keep to Edinburgh and the other larger burghs. Jamesina itched to ask him questions, to know him better. She even found herself hoping, to her own mortification, that whatever the wise-woman would tell her about her fate would involve him somehow.

I am so ridiculous.

* * *

Delwyn congratulated himself on how easily he had insinuated himself in the Braenaird party. It had been a stroke of luck to find that they were staying at the same inn that he was in. He had learned of it quite by accident, having overheard the publican’s wife complain about not being able to clean the corridors outside of their rooms because of the presence of guards.

“’Tis a good thing they’re all gaeing tae the ceremony tonight or else I’d never get tae clean tha’ place.”

“Aye weel, ye ken wa’ happened tae the first Douglass lass. I expect the new laird doesnae mean tae let th’ rest o’ them oot o’ his sight until he’s made matches fae them all. I seen a queen move aboot wi’ less guards than those lasses.” The second voice laughed.

Delwyn had opened the door, nodding towards the two women before heading down the stairs, thinking hard. He made his way to the taproom, hoping to run into one of the guards. To his surprise, he saw all three sisters sitting at the long bench, a tureen of soup and a plate of bread set before them. They were surrounded by five or six heavily armed men, clearly soldiers by their demeanor. They kept a wary eye on everyone in the taproom even as the girls ate and chatted with each other as nonchalantly as if they were in their own hall.

Delwyn could see no opening to speak to any of them and so he lurked in the corridor, listening to their talk, the youngest one speaking clearly and excitedly about their coming excursion. He ran back to his room and snagged his cloak, before lurking in the courtyard as he waited for them to emerge from the inn.

He walked quietly after them as they left, relieved that they had opted not to take a carriage. He did not know much about the festival aside from that it involved the lighting of torches, singing, and dances. Perhaps it was some form of highland witchery. Nonetheless, it was not his problem. He could learn more about his sister’s whereabouts from these people and that was his foremost goal.

He walked a little behind the oldest girl, her auburn hair decorated with white flowers, her flowing white gown just visible below the folds of her arisaid. She walked with a slight sway to her hips, unwittingly seductive as she listened intently to the story. He could barely understand one word in three of the thick Highland brogue but he could tell it was some fell tale of men falling prey to the supernatural.

Typical Scottish superstition.

He scoffed to himself as he moved closer when he saw the girl shiver in fear. The hemline of her gown was wide and he caught just a glimpse of her bare shoulder before she pulled her arisaid back in place and it was hidden beneath the sturdy woolen shawl. He swallowed his disappointment as he opened his mouth to speak to her.