Chapter 1
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Scotland* 1200
Iain Maitland was a mean son of a bitch when he was riled.
He was riled now. The black mood came over him the minute his brother Patrick told him about the promise he'd given his sweet wife* Frances Catherine.
If Patrick had wanted to surprise his brother* he'd certainly accomplished that goal. His explanation had rendered Iain speechless.
The condition didn't last long. Anger quickly took over. In truth* the ridiculous promise his brother had given his wife wasn't nearly as infuriating to Iain as the fact that Patrick had called the council together to render their official opinion on the matter. Iain would have stopped his brother from involving the elders in what he considered to be a private* family matter* but he'd been away from the holding at the time* hunting down the Maclean bastards who'd waylaid three unseasoned Maitland warriors* and when he'd returned home* weary but victorious* the deed had already been done.
Leave it to Patrick to take a simple issue and complicate the hell out of it. It was apparent he hadn't considered any of the ramifications of his rash behavior. Iain* as the newly appointed laird over the clan* would now be expected to put his duties to his immediate family aside* his loyalty* too* and act solely as the council's advisor. He wasn't about to meet those expectations* of course. He would stand beside his brother no matter how much opposition came from the elders. He wouldn't allow Patrick to be punished* either. And if need be* he was fully prepared to fight.
Iain didn't share his decision with his brother for the simple reason that he wanted Patrick to suffer the uncertainty awhile longer. If the ordeal proved painful enough* perhaps Patrick would finally learn to use a little restraint.
The council of five had already gathered in the great hall to hear Patrick's petition when Iain finished his duties and made his way up the hill. Patrick was waiting in the center of the courtyard. He looked ready to go into battle. His legs were braced apart* his hands were in fists at his sides* and the scowl on his face was as fierce as the thunderstorm brewing overhead.
Iain wasn't at all impressed with his brother's bluster. He shoved Patrick out of his path when he tried to block his way* and continued on toward the steps to the keep. "Iain*" Patrick called out. "I ask you now* for I would know your position before we go inside. Do you stand beside me on this issue or against me?"
Iain stopped* then slowly turned around to look at his brother. The expression on his face showed his anger. His voice was deceptively mild* however* when he spoke. "And I would know* Patrick* if you deliberately try to provoke me by asking such a question?"
Patrick immediately relaxed his stance. "I meant no insult* but you're new as laird and still to be tested in such a personal way by our council. I hadn't realized until just now the awkward position I've put you in."
"Are you having second thoughts?"
"No*" Patrick answered with a grin. He walked over to his brother. "I know you didn't want me to involve the council* especially now when you're battling to get them interested in forming an alliance with the Dunbars against the Macleans* but Frances Catherine was determined to gain their blessing. She wants her friend to be welcomed here."
Iain didn't remark on that explanation.
Patrick pressed on. "I also realize you don't understand my reasons for giving my wife such a promise* but someday* when you've met the right woman* all of this will make perfectly good sense to you."
Iain shook his head in exasperation. "Honest to God* Patrick* I'll never understand. There isn't any such thing as the right woman. One's just as good as another."
Patrick laughed. "I used to believe that* too* until I met Frances Catherine."
"You're talking like a woman*" Iain said.
Patrick wasn't insulted by his brother's comment. He knew Iain couldn't understand the love he felt for his wife* but God willing* one day he would find someone to give his heart to. When that day arrived* he was going to thoroughly enjoy reminding Iain of this callous attitude.
"Duncan indicated they might want to question my wife*" Patrick said then* turning the topic back to his main concern. "Do you think the elder was jesting with me?"
Iain didn't turn around when he gave his answer. "None of the council members ever jest* Patrick. You know that as well as I."
"Damn it* I'm responsible for this."
"Aye* you are."
Patrick ignored his brother's quick agreement. "I won't let the council intimidate Frances Catherine."
Iain let out a sigh. "I won't* either*" he promised.
Patrick was so startled by that agreement* he lost his frown. "They think they'll be able to get me to change my mind*" he said. "You'd better understand that nothing any of them do will make a difference. I've given Frances Catherine my word* and I mean to keep it. God's truth* Iain* I'd walk through the fires of Hell for my wife."
Iain turned and smiled at his brother. "A simple walk into the great hall will suffice for now*" he drawled out. "Let's get it done."
Patrick nodded* then hurried ahead of his brother to open one of the double doors.
"A word of advice* Patrick*" Iain said. "Leave your anger outside these doors. If they see how rattled you are* they'll go for your throat. Simply state your reasons in a calm voice. Let logic guide your thoughts* not emotion."
"And then?"
"I'll do the rest."
The door closed on that promise.
Ten minutes later the council sent a messenger to fetch Frances Catherine. Young Sean was given the duty. He found Patrick's wife sitting by the fire in her cottage and immediately explained she was to come to the keep and wait outside the doors for her husband to escort her inside.
Frances Catherine's heart started pounding. Patrick had told her there was a possibility she would be called before the council* but she hadn't believed him. It was unheard of for a woman to speak her mind directly to the council or the laird in any official capacity. And she wasn't consoled in the least by the fact that the new laird was her husband's older brother. No* that relationship didn't signify anything at all.
Her mind raced from one frightening thought to another* and in no time she'd worked herself into a fine state of agitation. The council obviously thought she was daft. Yes* she decided. By now Patrick had told them all about the promise he'd given her* and that was the reason she was being called to the great hall to give her own explanation. They wanted to make certain she really had lost her mind before damning her to isolation for the remainder of her days.
Her only hope rested in the hands of the laird. Frances Catherine didn't know Iain Maitland well. She doubted she'd exchanged more than fifty words with the warrior in the two years she'd been married to his younger brother* but Patrick had assured her Iain was an honorable man. He would see the fairness in her request.
She was going to have to get past the council first. Since it was an official meeting* four of the elders wouldn't speak directly to her. They would give their questions to their own leader* Graham* and he alone would have to suffer the indignity of conversing with her. She was a woman* after all* and an outsider* for she had been born and raised on the border and not the glorious Highlands. Frances Catherine was actually relieved that Graham would be the only one to question her* since she found him to be the least frightening of the elders. The old warrior was a soft-spoken man who was greatly admired by his clan. He'd been their laird for over fifteen years and had retired from that position of power just three months past. Graham wouldn't terrify her* at least not deliberately* but he'd use every other bit of trickery he possessed to get her to release Patrick from his promise.
She made a quick sign of the cross* and then prayed her way up the steep hill to the keep. She reminded herself she could get through this ordeal. No matter what* she wouldn't back down. Patrick Maitland had given her his promise the day before she agreed to marry him* and by God* he was going to see it carried through.
A precious life depended upon it.
Frances Catherine reached the top step of the keep and stood there waiting. Several women passed by the courtyard* curious at the sight of a woman lingering on the laird's doorstep. Frances Catherine didn't invite conversation. She kept her face averted* praying all the while that no one would call out to her. She didn't want the women in the clan to know what was going on until it was finished. They would surely start in making trouble then* but it would be too late to matter.
She didn't think she could bear the wait much longer. Agnes Kerry* the old biddy with her nose always up in the air because her pretty daughter was surely going to become the laird's bride* had already made two circles around the courtyard in an attempt to find out what was going on* and a few of her cohorts were also edging closer now.
Frances Catherine straightened the pleats of her plaid over her swollen stomach* noticed how her hands were shaking* and immediately tried to stop the telling show of fear. She let out a loud sigh. She wasn't usually feeling so timid and unsure of herself* but since she'd found out she was carrying* her behavior had undergone a dramatic change. She was terribly emotional now and cried over the most inconsequential things. Feeling big* awkward* and as fat as a well-fed mare didn't help her disposition* either. She was almost seven months into her confinement* and the weight of the babe slowed her movements considerably. Her thoughts weren't affected* though. They rushed through her mind like a whirlwind as she tried to guess what questions Graham would ask.
The door finally squeaked open and Patrick stepped outside. She was so relieved to see him* she almost burst into tears. He was frowning* but as soon as he saw how pale and worried she looked* he forced a smile. He took hold of her hand* gave it a little squeeze* and then winked at her. The unusual show of affection during daylight hours felt as soothing to her as one of his nightly back rubs.
"Oh* Patrick*" she blurted out. "I'm so sorry to be putting you through this embarrassment."
"Does that mean you won't hold me to my promise?" he asked her in that deep rich voice she loved so much.
"No."
Her bluntness made him laugh. "I didn't think so."
She wasn't in the mood to be teased. She only wanted to concentrate on the ordeal ahead of her. "Is he inside yet?" she asked in a bare whisper.
Patrick knew who she was talking about* of course. Frances Catherine had a most unreasonable fear of his brother. He thought it might be because Iain was laird over the entire clan. The number of warriors alone reached well over three hundred. His powerful position would make him unapproachable to a woman* Patrick supposed.
"Please answer me*" she pleaded.
"Yes* love* Iain's inside."
"Then he knows about the promise?" It was a foolish question to ask. She realized that fact almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. "Oh heavens* of course he knows. Is he angry with us?"
"Sweetheart* everything's going to be all right*" he promised. He tried to pull her through the open doorway. She resisted the gentle tug.
"But the council* Patrick*" she rushed out. "How did they react to your explanation?"
"They're still sputtering."
"Oh* God." She went completely rigid on him.
He realized he shouldn't have been so honest with her. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "It's all going to work out*" he whispered in a soothing voice. "You'll see. If I have to walk to England to fetch your friend* I'll do it. You trust me* don't you?"
"Yes* I trust you. I wouldn't have married you if I didn't trust you completely. Oh* Patrick* you do understand how important this is to me?"
He kissed the top of her forehead before answering. "Yes* I know. Will you promise me something?"
"Anything."
"When your friend comes here* you'll laugh again?"
She smiled. "I promise*" she whispered. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. They stood holding on to each other a long minute. He was trying to give her time to regain her composure. She was trying to remember the correct words to use when she was asked to give her reasons to the council.
A woman hurrying past with a basketful of laundry paused to smile over the loving couple.
Patrick and Frances Catherine did make a handsome pair. He was as dark as she was fair. Both were tall* though Patrick reached a full six feet in height* and the top of his wife's head barely reached his chin. It was only when Patrick stood next to his older brother that he appeared small* for the laird was several inches taller. Patrick was certainly every bit as wide through the shoulders* though* and had the same shade of black-brown hair. His eyes were a darker shade of gray than Iain's were* and he didn't have nearly the number of battle scars to mar his handsome profile.