The Highlander's Substitute Wife
Author
Terri Brisbin
Reads
19.8K
Chapters
22
HarlequinPrologue
Their ancient enemy had arrived with the late-summer-morning fog. It had formed in the estuary and spread up the river and over the shores, hiding their presence until it was too late. Half of his men were killed before a warning cry rang out into the eerie silence. When the fog cleared, many of the MacMillan warriors, some of their villagers and, worst of all, their chieftain lay slaughtered.
Ross MacMillan stared out from the battlements of Castle Sween and surveyed the loss of life and the damage to the outbuildings and village. With each breath he tried to control his rage and his grief as he sorted through the choices facing him and the clan.
The name of Alexander Campbell was known by all in this area for his villainous and deadly acts two decades ago. He’d not been heard from since his forced exile from Scotland as punishment for his heinous crimes. No one, not a clan around here, had ever expected him to return. And now they’d paid the price for their wilful ignorance.
‘Ross.’ His brother Fergus stood closer behind Ross than he realised. Turning to face him, Ross let out the breath he’d been holding.
‘The elders are finished and await you in the hall,’ Fergus said. Ross nodded, but his brother glanced away before meeting his eyes. ‘Will you accept?’
‘If they offer it, aye.’
‘You are the eldest male of Cormac’s relatives. You are already commander of his, our, warriors. The only others who would offer any resistance to you lie in their grave cloths awaiting blessings and burial,’ Fergus argued. Though why his brother did so, he knew not. Fergus usually kept his thoughts and words to himself, so this was more than Ross had heard him speak in a long time.
‘Aye, I will accept.’
They walked to the steps leading down into the yard and Fergus stopped at the bottom before moving on. Something yet unsaid bothered his brother. Considering all that had happened this day and the things yet left to come, Ross could not pick out just one vexing thing from the dozens that he’d thought on before Fergus’s arrival.
‘Everything will change,’ Fergus said.
‘Aye.’ Ross waited for Fergus’s true question. His brother’s habit of taking a while to get to the real topic of concern was familiar.
‘What will you do? What will we do?’
Although both of them had stood high in their uncle’s regard, neither had expected Cormac to die before producing an heir of his body. Ross understood the enormity of what he faced—he must gather their allies, organise their people and resources, protect the clan and carry out his duties as their new chieftain.
‘We will do our duty, Fergus.’ He stared at his brother. ‘I will need your help and co-operation.’
‘You always have my help. I will swear my fealty to you as my chieftain.’ Ross could not fault his younger brother if he was not looking at the wider situation as he so easily pledged his loyalty.
Ross followed his brother across the yard to the door of the keep. Their path was slowed by many who stopped him to ask questions and by others who sought his advice and orders. As they reached the hall and stood before the gathering of the elders and counsellors of the clan, Ross whispered his warning to Fergus.
‘Doing our duty means marriage, Fergus.’ Fergus nodded and smiled, believing Ross spoke only of his own betrothal.
‘I will stand at your side, Brother,’ Fergus replied.
‘As I will at yours.’
Fergus turned, shaking his head and shrugging. When Ross began to walk past him, his brother grabbed his arm.
‘What are you saying?’
‘We have been struck hard, Fergus. Our only path to survival and to defeating the Campbells is with allies.’
‘Aye. I ken.’
‘Well, consider this then, Brother. You and our sister Elspeth are now of use in establishing connections with several other clans to benefit us in the coming battles.’
Ross understood immediately, as would the elders, that he and his marriageable siblings would draw offers from the neighbouring clans. Treaties, supplies, gold and warriors would be negotiated in marriage contracts, all necessary if he, if they, hoped to prepare to destroy their returned enemies. And none of them would have much choice when it came to the marriages to be made.
As the truth struck Fergus, his eyes widened at his own prospects. Then fear filled his gaze, but Ross believed that to be the sensible fear of any man facing marriage. Finally, Fergus shrugged.
‘Marriage,’ he whispered, in a voice flushed with trepidation.
‘Marriage. For each of us and Elspeth as well,’ Ross confirmed.
‘I am glad you will be chieftain and be the one to tell Elspeth of her fate,’ Fergus said. ‘My chieftain,’ he mocked with a bowing of his head.
When Ross’s name was called, he turned his attention to the matter at hand and the oath he must swear to protect his clan.
Marriage would come later, but it would come.
He just wished he would not be the one to tell their sister about hers.
Over the next weeks, and as he’d expected, none of them was happy with the decisions made about their betrothals. One of the elders tried to assuage his concerns by explaining how arranged marriages were the most successful. Watching his sister’s and especially his brother’s reactions to the news of theirs did not portend much happiness for either one. Ross was the only one who’d not met or known his intended before and now he knew not if he should feel comfortable or if the tiny sliver of pure dread that inched down his back was the warning he should heed.
Only time, and the arrival of his bride, would tell.
