Page 8 of Highlander’s Evil Side

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.