An Enemy at the Highland Court: An Enemies to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 5) Read online

  “Be sure you clean all the entrails out and put twice as much salt as you think you need, compris?”

  “Oui, Maman. I understand. I haven’t been away so long that I’ve forgotten,” Cairren grinned. She looked forward to the roasted venison that would feed them for the first half of their journey. It made the arduous cross-country trek less intimidating, knowing she would have a full belly rather than the hollowness bannocks and dried beef never really filled. As she and one of the guardsmen lifted the skewered flank onto the spit, Cairren looked around at the men who traveled with her. They were men she’d known her entire life; some were childhood friends close to her age, while others were closer to her parents’ ages. As some of the men sang, Cairren relaxed for the first time since her parents arrived. Laurel’s warning was ever present, but Cairren was able to push it to the back of her mind. When the men opted to sip their whisky, Collette dulcet tones eased many into slumber.

  “L’autier jost’un sebissa

  Trobei pastora mestissa,

  de joi e den sen massissa,

  Si cum filla de vilana,

  Cap’ e gonel’e pelissa,

  Vest e camiza treslissa,

  Sotlars e caussas de lana.”

  Cairren followed along, softly translating each line.

  “The other day beside a hedge,

  I found a humble shepherdess

  Full of joy and good sense

  Like the daughter of a peasant girl;

  A cape, a coat and fur

  She wore, and a shirt of rough cloth, shoes and woolen stockings.”

  As more men settled on their bedrolls, Cairren abandoned the English version and sang along with her mother. By the end of the thirteenth verse, mother and daughter sat with their arms wrapped around one another. Cairren’s alto was the perfect complement to her mother’s soprano. They’d sung together since Cairren could speak, with Caitlyn’s voice eventually offering harmony with its mid-range octave.

  “I shall miss this, ma petite fille,” Collette whispered. “But remember when you miss home, Caitlyn and I are singing along with you, even if only in spirit.”

  Cairren nodded as she gazed at the twinkling stars and wondered if her sister was doing the same. She wondered whether Padraig ever stargazed, but the image of a woman who resembled Laurel pushed to the forefront of her mind. Her thoughts became locked on the notion that Padraig didn’t bother to look at the stars because he preferred to stare at Myrna.

  “What is it? Where have you gone?” Collette’s whisper broke through the quagmire that threatened to pull Cairren’s mind under.

  “Maman, I learned something from Laurel Ross the night you and Papa arrived.”

  “Quoi?”

  Cairren looked around the camp at the sleeping men, but even as snores drifted to them, Cairren opted to continue their conversation in French. “Laurel told me that Padraig has been in love with Laurel’s sister, Myrna, for years and wants to marry her. Laurel said that if Myrna had a larger dowry, they would already be wed. She warned me that Myrna would likely be there when we arrived. Maman, how am I supposed to marry a mon when the woman he loves is watching? How can I go to a mon’s bed when he wishes I was someone else? What if he mistakes me in the dark and calls out the wrong name? I don’t know that I could survive that humiliation.”

  “You can and you would. It breaks my heart to learn you are entering this marriage at such a disadvantage, but you are a woman with much to offer your husband and new clan. And before you say that what you have to offer is a fat dowry, you know that isn’t what I meant. You will never be able to make everyone like you. Some may never respect you, but as long as you show everyone kindness and dignity, then most will come around. I wish I could have promised you a love match like your father and I have, but we know how rare that is. Try to build an accord with your husband. Don’t attempt to replace this Myrna but carve out a place where you and Padraig can get along. Perhaps in time, his feelings will change.”

  “I will try, Maman. Is it wrong that I pray he gets me with child quickly? Then I will have someone to love and who will love me, and I won’t have to share a bed with a mon who doesn’t want to be there.”

  “It isn’t wrong, but don’t set all your hopes on that. It might not happen so easily. Cairren,” Collette paused as she bit her lip. “I explained to you when your courses came how a man and woman join to make babes. I suspect you’ve learned even more since arriving at court. Padraig may not love you outside your bedchamber, but if he desires you within your chamber, you may find pleasures of two types. The obvious is the pleasure your body enjoys. But the other pleasure is finding a common ground where you can nurture trust. I won’t give you false hope and say satisfying your husband will make him faithful, but it can keep you in his good graces.”

  “I know, Maman. But he may already be bedding Myrna. If he is, then why would he bother to bed me once we’ve made the marriage binding?”

  “Then ensure he wants more than one night.”

  “How can I do that without coming across as a wanton? How would I know to do those things if not from experience?”

  Collette chuckled. “I’m not saying you should perform the acts of a courtesan, but welcome him to your bed. Don’t lie there like a dead fish. Pay attention to what seems to spur him on, and whether or not he arouses you, for God’s sake, make it seem like he is.”

  “How do you know this if you and Papa were in love when you married?”

  “My mother didn’t love her first husband and could barely tolerate him at first. She had to learn these lessons with no one’s advice. She made peace with her marriage and made the most of it until he died. She explained these things to me before I met your father, and they have stuck with me. It saddens me that I must impart them to you, but I pray they serve you well.”

  “Merci, Maman,” Cairren whispered as she yawned. She slid down her bedroll, and Collette kissed her temple as she drew the plaid over Cairren’s shoulder for what would be one of the last times in either of their lives.

  “Fait de beaux rêves.” Make good dreams. It was the phrase Collette had said every night as she tucked her daughters in. And Cairren offered the same response she always did.

  “Toi aussi.” You too.

  Chapter Four

  Foulis Castle came into view on the seventh morning of their journey. They’d been delayed when a horse threw a shoe, then went lame. They’d had to make a detour to a village where the horse could rest and a blacksmith refitted the horseshoe. It was a blessing in disguise as Cairren enjoyed a night in a bed, even if the frame creaked when she so much as breathed. It was still warmer and softer than the ground.

  Cairren gathered her reins in one hand and shielded her eyes as she took in the imposing keep that was to become her new home. The Munro banner flapped in the wind, signaling the laird was in residence. Cairren was certain that at least one patrol had seen them as they crossed into Munro territory, and likely a scout raced ahead to inform the laird of their imminent arrival. While Cairren couldn’t make out any figures on the battlements, she knew that the superior height meant the guardsmen had already spotted their entourage. She rode in the center beside her mother with her father in the lead. Kennedy guardsmen surrounded the women, and with her short stature, Cairren suspected no one would notice her until she dismounted. She intended to use that to her advantage as she cast surreptitious glances around the bailey as they passed beneath the portcullis. The walls were well maintained, sentries were posted along the battlements, and the people looked healthy and well fed.

  Just how badly could they need my dowry? Cairren turned her attention toward the steps as a couple about her parents’ age led the way down the keep’s steps. Two more couples followed. Cairren’s eyes riveted on the blond, willowy woman, and she knew in an instant that Myrna was walking beside Padraig, her betrothed, to come and greet her. Her stomach sank, and she struggled to keep a scowl from clouding her expression. She adopted the look of serenity and g
race that she’d cultivated during her earliest days at court. Allyson had helped her, and it hadn’t taken Cairren long to appreciate its value. She suspected she would wear it every day for the rest of her life.

  “Laird and Lady Kennedy, it is a pleasure to welcome you and your daughter to Foulis Castle and Clan Munro,” the giant who approached them boomed. The man was not much taller than Innes, but his chest seemed twice as wide. Innes had always been one of the largest and brawest men Cairren knew, but Laird Micheil Munro fit every whispered rumor she’d ever heard about Highlanders. Lady Mary Munro sniffed, her nose curling as though a foul odor wafted toward her as she passed an assessing eye over Cairren and Collette. It was clear the Kennedy women did not pass muster, at least not by Lady Munro’s standards.

  The man who stood directly behind Laird Munro smirked as his eyes raked Cairren. She recognized the action, and she prayed the man wasn’t Padraig. There was something about him that made Cairren uneasy. When the man scowled at the sallow-looking woman at his side, Cairren realized that the couple must have been the older son and his wife. Cairren finally turned her attention to the man who stood silently with Myrna’s arm now wrapped around his. Cairren’s heart lurched as the most handsome man she’d even seen stood before her. He still hadn’t spotted her, even if Myrna had. His black hair was cut shorter than most Highlanders, sitting above his collar. He had piercing brown eyes that appeared nearly black from a distance. Cairren wondered briefly if they were truly windows into his soul. She hoped not. His jaw was finely chiseled, but his nose had a slight bump where she supposed someone once broke it. It appeared to be the only flaw in his otherwise perfect visage. He was as large as his father, which made him a few inches taller than his older brother. It was clear both sons were trained warriors, but where there was an air of arrogance about the older son, Padraig appeared confident.

  “Tha iad le chèile cho donn,” Myrna murmured. Cairren understood enough Gaelic to know the woman had said “they’re both so brown.” It wasn’t an observation but an accusation.

  "Et tu es si grossière,” Cairren muttered. And you’re so rude. At her quiet comment, Collette shot her a look of warning. While they might not expect Lowlanders to speak Gaelic, which Collette didn’t, there was always the likelihood that a noble family spoke French.

  As Cairren looked away from her mother, her eyes locked with Padraig’s, and she recognized the surprise when he finally caught sight of her. She cocked an eyebrow in challenge before her eyes darted to Myrna. Padraig didn’t hurry, but he removed Myrna’s arm from his. When Cairren’s eyebrow nearly reached her hairline, Padraig stepped forward.

  Padraig Munro feared he would swoon for the first time in his life. He hadn’t expected the stunning beauty who stood among giants. Nor had he expected her pluck to cast such a withering gaze within moments of their eyes meeting. He’d been curious as the Kennedys rode into the bailey, so he hadn’t noticed when Myrna wrapped her arm around his. It was something they had done so many times over the years that it felt natural. When Cairren’s expression hardened and both her chin and eyebrow lifted, Padraig noticed Myrna once again. And how inappropriate their behavior was. He’d been struck dumb was his only explanation. He’d always believed Myrna was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen with sky-blue eyes, long flaxen hair, and a lithesome figure, but Cairren took his breath away. He stared into the astute silver-gray eyes that seemed to see far too much in too short a time. While she’d pulled her hair into a braid, the plait sat over her shoulder, grazing her waist. The rich brunette color shone red where the sun caught it. Her diminutive body was lush and softer than Myrna’s, and he found his fingers itched to trail over her breasts and hips. He’d never felt such a spark of lust for any woman. He and Myrna had an understanding, or at least there had been one until he learned of his betrothal, that until they wed, Padraig was free to find his pleasure with other women, but he swore he would be faithful once they married.

  He’d heard Myrna’s comment, but it was several long moments before it registered with him, and Padraig gathered his wits enough to notice Cairren’s skin tone. His heart dropped, and the lust fizzled. He wanted to squirm, embarrassment that his new bride was so dark-skinned already setting in. She would be a constant source of mockery among his clan and their neighbors. He swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat as he wondered how his father could have agreed to the match. They weren’t in that desperate need, were they? As though his mother divined his thoughts, she glanced at Myrna and frowned.

  "Coigrich ghràineil. Chan eil feum againn air an òr cho mòr. Is e masladh a tha seo,” Disgusting foreigners. We don’t need their gold that much. This is an insult, Lady Mary Munro griped as she returned her glower to Cairren, who reared back as her eyes widened.

  Cairren stepped forward and offered the angry woman a curtsy befitting a queen. When she rose, she locked her eyes on her soon-to-be mother-by-marriage and spoke in a clear voice. "Maitheanas dhomh, chan eil mo Ghàidhlig glè mhath fhathast. Ach tha e na thoileachas coinneachadh riut. Màthair.” Forgive me, my Gaelic isn’t very good yet. But it’s a pleasure to meet you. Mother.

  It was Mary’s turn to gasp. Cairren wasn’t sure if it was the use of Gaelic or the fact that she called the woman Mother–perhaps it was both–but she derived smug satisfaction from startling the woman. With an angelic smile she didn’t mean, Cairren turned back toward Padraig and offered him a curtsy, one that conveniently accentuated the low neckline of her gown. She and Collette had chosen it for that reason, and Cairren had donned it just before Foulis Castle came into sight. While it was a risk showing so much of her olive-toned skin, they banked on her betrothed noticing her bosom. She wore a fresh gown, had braided her hair again, and dabbed on perfume, so she was as well presented as she could be after a week on the road. When Myrna hissed, Cairren tilted her head and offered her a soft smile before looking back at Padraig.

  Padraig didn’t know where to look. His mother and beloved were practically hissing and snarling while Cairren the kitten proved that she had claws. He never imagined she would understand Gaelic. It made him wonder how she’d learned. While his mind railed against taking a wife who couldn’t have been more different from the women he was used to, his body had a different idea entirely and was already eagerly considering their wedding night. He remembered to bow and extend his hand. When Cairren looked at it as if to tell whether it was dirty, he almost pulled it back, but she brought her fingertips to just above his. When he bent over it, a floral perfume wafted toward him, a scent he didn’t recognize.

  “Myrtle,” Cairren whispered. Padraig’s eyes jumped to Cairren’s, and he spotted a moment where she lowered her armor and sincerity shone through, but Myrna huffed, and the shield went back up. Cairren pulled her hand away and turned to Myrna. “Lady Myrna, your sister Laurel sends her regards. I have a missive from her in my chest. I will be certain to deliver it as soon as possible.”

  “Laurel? You know my sister?”

  “Aye. We’ve been roommates for nearly three years. Did she never mention it?” Cairren infused innocence into her voice when all she wanted to do was swipe the smug look from Myrna’s face. Her introduction to the laird’s family and their guest wasn’t going well.

  “Nay. We—we—aren’t close,” Myrna explained.

  Cairren looked as if to contemplate something before nodding. “I suppose she spoke of Katherine or Elizabeth or Margaret when she told me she wrote to her sisters.” Cairren waved a dismissive hand as she turned toward the couple that had remained silent as the unpleasant exchange played out in the middle of the bailey.

  “Lady Cairren, I am Duncan, tánaiste to my laird father. This is my wife, Lady Wynda.” Duncan didn’t glance at his wife, instead fastening his attention to Cairren’s bust. Cairren nodded but kept her attention on the rather mousy-looking woman. Wynda returned the shallow curtsy and smiled timidly. As she lowered her chin, her collar shifted, and Cairstine was certain she saw a bruise. Her eyes darted t
o Duncan, but he was still shamelessly staring at her bosom.

  Padraig’s gaze was riveted on Cairren, no longer noticing anyone around him. His body refused to calm, and as she stepped forward when his mother ushered them toward the Great Hall, her gown pulled snug across her chest. Padraig’s lengthening rod bumped against the back of his sporran, and he was grateful that it hid his rampant cockstand. He shifted his eyes to Myrna, who was glaring at him. She wrapped her arm back around his so tightly that he wouldn’t be able to extricate it without causing a scene. He frowned at his beloved before turning back to Cairren, who walked with elegance and poise, studiously ignoring him and Myrna. His discomfort grew when Myrna settled into the seat she always occupied, but should have been offered to Cairren. His mother abetted Myrna’s rudeness, and the two women showed no shame in insulting their guests or his bride-to-be.

  “The wedding will be tomorrow,” Micheil boomed. “I’m certain you are eager to be on your way home, Innes.”

  “I am certain I’m eager to see my daughter well settled before I go anywhere,” Innes spoke softly, but the resolve in his voice made Padraig once again want to squirm. He didn’t want a showdown between the two lairds in front of his clan. They were already abuzz about the two women who sat at the dais, their appearances an oddity in the Highlands.