Page 3 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

“I suppose at least some of it can be mended,” Kenna said with a sigh, examining a large area of lace along the hem that had separated from the faded blue silk.

“Aye, shall need to be if ye do not want it to fall apart at the altar tomorrow.”

“Father Kent’s poor old heart would give out.”

Elizabeth giggled and picked up a needle of her own and the sisters bent over the gown, hoping to achieve a miracle.

* * *

Morning came all too quickly for Kenna. As soon as dawn cracked on the horizon, she was surrounded by maids who were keen on having her look the part of a bride. They scrubbed her skin until it threatened to go raw before dousing her in sweet-smelling rose waters and rubbing bits of face powder here and there to make her coloring more fashionable. Others were tugging at her wild black curls, doing their best to tame them into submission with pins and netting studded with small pearls. They must have been winning that war for Kenna’s head had never felt worse.

While they worked on her, the maids gossiped with such vigor that Kenna would have believed that they hadn’t seen each other in days—though, with the Queen’s maids mixed in with the usual castle staff, it was possible they hadn’t. Most of the stories involved drunken men doing something foolish like starting a brawl over the last bannock or slaughtering a chicken to roast in the middle of the night. Other stories were darker, and Kenna winced each time she recognized the name of a lass that some man had decided he could take liberties with, claiming it to be his right as a conquering warrior. Kenna, though she despised her situation, at least was being taken as a wife before being violated so. A woman could hardly ask for more in a situation such as this.

Dressing provided a new wave of challenges. Though Kenna and Elizabeth had worked on their mother’s gown well into the night, it was still less than desirable, with some places worn nearly threadbare and others so badly torn that even Elizabeth’s small, delicate stitches could not be hidden. With all said and done, Kenna felt it looked like a shattered vase that someone had tried to stick back together—technically whole but covered with a web of cracks and dips that would never come together perfectly again. As the maids pulled it over her, Kenna understood with horror that in their haste to make repairs, they had failed to consider the size. Their mother had been a wisp of a woman, much like Elizabeth, and could have been blown away by a passing breeze. Kenna, on the other hand, took after the heartier, Highland breed of women on her father’s side. Her waist was thin but juxtaposed against an ample bosom and hips to match. By the time they got the gown to fit, albeit poorly, Kenna’s vision was speckled with dark spots, and she had a new loathing for the man—for it was surely a man that had invented the corset.

“Hurry up,” John snapped after barging into the room uninvited. “Ye ken ye have to be at the wedding in order to be wed.”

Although Kenna would have liked for the women to cluck and chastise him for his impatience, they seemed to share his mind, quickly pulling out the chair from under her and hoisting her to her feet before she could even think about falling. Despite their frenzied pace as they made their way out of the room and through the winding halls, the maids were still all about her, pulling and pinching and shifting pins here and there.

“If one of ye wouldn’t mind giving me a wee push while ye’re at it,” Kenna said as they arrived at the stairs, “ye’d be saving me a fair bit of trouble.”

They laughed, much to Kenna’s annoyance. She hadn’t been joking.

She was given a bit of space as they walked down the stairs before the crusade against her looks resumed. They only seemed to begin to fall away from her when she approached a side entrance to the courtyard. Only one maid caught her before she reached it, making one final effort to urge a curl forward to cover the bruise on her cheek, which had settled into a deep purple overnight and was far too dark to be covered by the light powders they had at hand.

John and Thomas stood to the side of the yard when Kenna finally escaped the maid to stand beside a man she did not recognize. The jacket covering his overly large belly was studded here and there with gold threads, and his tartan was vibrant with fresh dye. A Sutherland, Kenna understood as she examined him, a wash of relief flooding through her as she comprehended that this was not the man she was set to wed. He was saying something to her brothers that she couldn’t quite hear before the trio of them laughed and he departed with a jovial clap on John’s back.

“Who was that?” Kenna asked John, arriving beside the brothers just as the stranger strode out of earshot.

“The Earl of Sutherland. He is one of the Queen’s most trusted advisors and, as it so happens, a cousin to our Laird, the Earl of Huntly. Where is yer sister?”

“Did ye not bang her door down as well? She’ll be along. What business did ye have—”

Kenna’s inquiry was cut off by a growing cloud of noise as a sea of red tartan came streaming into the courtyard.

Frasers, Kenna understood with a start. Raucous and jovial, they moved in a herd of shouts, jests, and booming laughs capable of knocking the dust from the rafters. All, that is, except for one.

Walking along with a lazy grace, he barely cracked a smile when the others seemed ready to wet themselves with laughter. Rolling his eyes and giving long sighs, Kenna wondered if any man had ever looked so annoyed among friends.

Kenna pulled her eyes away from the man, returning them to John. He had found a maid to ream for Elizabeth’s tardiness as if it had anything to do with the poor lass.

She’d have been content to watch the maid’s lip slowly slip into a tremble while her eyes welled with unshed tears, but her eyes betrayed her, darting back to the crowd of Frasers, toward the annoyed man that had been suddenly stalled by a crude skit conducted by two of his companions at the chapel’s steps. The man was a Highland warrior if there ever was one, with a tall figure and a lean physique.

“That Rob Fraser certainly stands out, even when he tries not to. Suppose ye shouldna expect much else from a future laird,” Thomas whispered in her ear as the maid finally began to weep behind them.

Kenna stiffened. “So, that’s—”

“Aye, yer groom. They say he is a fighter. His men certainly worship him.”

Thomas certainly wasn’t wrong. Though the rest of the men seemed content to continue in high spirits without Rob Fraser, they still seemed to gravitate toward him, casting glances in his direction with every joke they told, no doubt hoping that it would be them to crack that stony expression. He was the apex around which the rest circled, set apart but certainly not forgotten.

Elizabeth arrived and told John off.

“Trim and with a full head of red hair. I hear he has all of his teeth too. Ye ken ye could do worse, Kenna,” Thomas said, and this time Kenna could practically hear the smirk.

She eyed him. “Damn ye anyway.”