Chapter 7

7

S eptember, 1740

Bryce stood in front of the mirror, straightening his tartan kilt and adjusting his sporran. His mother, Catriona, stood behind him, fussing with the fabric of his jacket. They were alone in his bedchamber, getting ready for his betrothal feast. He was excited for the feast, to be sure, but he had not yet spoken to his mother about what he’d seen through the keyhole that day.

Catriona’s fingers hesitated on his jacket, sensing the tension in her son’s body.

“Is something troubling ye, Bryce?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Bryce tried to keep his tone neutral.

“Nay, Mother. Just nerves, I suppose.”

Catriona smiled at him, her eyes crinkling with affection.

“There’s no need tae be nervous, Bryce. Gemma is a wonderful young lass, an’ the two o’ ye make a great match.”

Bryce forced a smile, but he couldn't shake the anger and frustration that burned in his chest. He wanted to confront his mother, to demand answers for her betrayal, but he didn't know how to do it without causing a scene. As she helped him with his attire, Bryce couldn't help but feel a sense of bitterness. How could his mother do this to their family? How could she betray his father's trust like this?

But it was difficult to remain so angry with her. His mother was a kind woman. Even if she had brought disgrace upon the clan, her sense of duty and kindness were hard to ignore.

“How did ye ken that Father was the right one?” he asked suddenly.

“To be honest wi’ ye…it was an arranged marriage. I didnae have much choice in the matter,” she explained.

“Oh,” he said glumly.

“But…love came softly. I kent it was true when I held his hand an’ dinnae feel my heart flutter. Instead, I felt at peace, and safe, like there was no one else I’d rather be with.”

That seemed like very general advice, he thought, but perhaps it was different for women. Women needed to feel safe and protected, and men needed to know their wives were worth protecting. That was the way of the world, was it not?

“How do ye feel when yer with Gemma?” She asked, interrupting his musings.

It took him a moment. Quite honestly, he had not considered these feelings before. Finding a wife while he was still in his prime had been his main objective. Gemma was lovely in every which way, and when he looked at her, he felt as though he were being warmed by the sun after a long bout of rain.

“Victorious,” he finally said.

His mother straightened out his shirt under the tartan.

“An interesting feeling. Be sure ye treat her as well as I ken yer capable of.”

It sounded almost like a warning, and Bryce was a little upset with his mother for implying anything other than duty and affection.

But as the time for the feast drew nearer, Bryce pushed his anger aside. He couldn't let his personal feelings ruin his betrothal celebration. He would deal with his mother's affair another day, when his emotions weren't so raw. So, he took a deep breath and forced a smile, ready to celebrate his betrothal to Gemma, putting his mother's betrayal aside for the time being.

It was infuriating to Gemma that men insisted on making decisions for the women in their life, even though they were not directly affected by their consequences. One could certainly argue that choosing a husband for one’s daughter would affect the whole family, but at the end of the day, it all fell on the daughter. Gemma especially felt this way. Yes, being intimately connected with the laird’s family would bode well for the Gordons, but she was the one who had to share Bryce’s bed, bear his children, and live at his behest. Her family would still be free to live as they pleased.

But she would be unhappy.

Ever since Colin left, Gemma had not been the same. Where once she’d been a witty conversationalist, quick to laugh, and ready to cheer up anyone who needed it, everything seemed gray and dull to her now. As summer passed into autumn, her grief did not abate.

“Ye ought tae look a bit happier, ye ken. ‘Twill not do tae have ye look so glum this evening,” Muriel counseled as she brushed Gemma’s long dark locks.

“I dinnae want tae go through with this,” Gemma answered sullenly.

“Why not? Bryce is yer friend, an’ I’ve always said that friendship is the best basis for a marriage!”

“Could it not also be its undoing?” Gemma countered.

“I dinnae think so. An’ a question if a young, unmarried lady can really have unmarried young male friends. ‘Tis not proper,” Muriel said.

Gemma wanted to question the validity of her assertion, but there would be no use. It would not change the outcome. She was to marry Bryce, at nearly everyone’s insistence. Her parents had basically accepted the proposal for her. It had not been a romantic gesture at all; nothing like how Colin had asked her on the beach months ago. He’d written to her parents, asking if he could stop by for dinner and have a discussion with Mr. Gordon. Immediately, that had set the house in an uproar, because in Mrs. Gordon’s eyes, there was no other reason a young man would come to their house, have dinner, and ask for a private audience with the head of the household. No, it could not possibly be just business-related. Unfortunately, Mrs. Gordon had been right. She’d dressed Gemma up in one of her finest gowns, ordered her to wash her face and smooth her hair, and had sprayed her with lavender water. After dinner, Bryce and Mr. Gordon had gone into the study. They’d emerged only ten minutes later, both of them beaming. Gemma and her mother had been knitting — or pretending to knit — in the drawing room.

“Wonderful news, Miss Gemma,” Bryce had said.

“Oh?” she’d asked, hoping it was not what the household was anticipating.

“I’ve just spoken with yer father, an’ we can marry this autumn, if yer willin’.”

It left her speechless. Was that what passed for a proposal? Did he not have a ring; did he not care to get down on one knee and declare his love? No, of course not, because he did not truly love her. This was simply the next step in a man’s life.

She gulped.

“I…”

“Well, go on then! The man’s waitin’,” her mother had said, poking her with her knitting needle.

There was a flash of…warning, in her father’s eyes. Not warning her about Bryce, of course, but warning her that if she did not accept, there would be trouble. Her mother had already voiced her opinion several times earlier that day.

“I…alright,” she said, feeling bile rise in her throat all the same.

Her mother squealed in delight, threw aside her knitting, and wrapped Gemma in a spine-crushing hug. Her father and Bryce shook hands, as if they’d just completed a successful business transaction.

“We’ll start our plannin’ soon. A pleasure, Miss Gemma,” he said, reaching for her hand and kissing it when her mother had let her go. Then he left.

Perhaps many marriage proposals were like that. Gemma knew that romance was not always part of marriage. Her parents’ own marriage had been one purely of business. But when she had felt love, and it had been so within her grasp…it was devastating to lose it. And worse…no one else knew, so instead of having pity on a woman who’d lost her one true love, people thought her sour and frigid.

Her mother had even warned her that if she did not display some fine smiles and sweet laughter for her husband-to-be, she could expect to sleep in the stables and eat hay with the horses. Whether or not she’d make good on her promise, Gemma didn’t know, but she also didn’t want to find out.

She quickly touched the collar of her gown, subtly checking if Colin’s ring of grass was still there. Every day, she tucked it between her shift and her bodice to keep him close to her. One day it would fade to nothing. She was surprised it hadn’t already, being made of grass many years ago.

“I ken ‘tis not the worst thing that can happen to a lady, but…Muriel, I dinnae love him,” she said morosely.

“Well, ye better learn to. At least tae tolerate him, or be affectionate. He’s not a bad-lookin’ lad.”

It was silent for the remainder of the time that the two of them spent getting ready. Gemma’s hair was braided elaborately, put into a pretty updo threaded with wildflowers, a few pieces left loose to frame her face. Her mother had instructed her to wear her blue silk gown because it was the color of loyalty. In fact, the entire Gordon family would be in attendance in blue. Even her brothers had come back to Aberdeen for the betrothal dinner. And really, it was one last chance to celebrate before the autumn chill set in.

“There. Yer done. Now remember tae smile,” Muriel said, making the smiling motion on her own face with her pointer fingers.

Gemma stared flatly at her instead. Muriel huffed in annoyance.

“At least smile when yer there, a’right? I’ll be waitin’ when ye get back, an’ I want tae hear everything. I expect Violet’ll be proposed to soon, as well,” the maid said with a wicked grin.

“I’ll be sure tae bring ye back the choicest gossip. ‘Twill be a good distraction from the feast.”

Muriel all but pushed Gemma down the stairs to her waiting family. Once again, her mother squealed upon seeing her all done up in her beautiful blue gown.

“Mother, really, ye act as if this is the day o’ the wedding,” Gemma said, irritated.

“Yer mother is just happy ye’ve found such a good match,” Mr. Gordon said in his even voice.

“Br—Mr. MacNeill is my friend, nothin’ more. Remember how we used tae play in the courtyard as bairns?”

“Aye, an’ now ye’ve the perfect foundation for marriage,” her mother said.

“Do you an’ Muriel talk often? She said the same thing tae me just now.”

“Then she’s a wise maid, and we’ll be sendin’ her along wi’ ye when ye move intae the castle. Think o’ that, Gemma! Ye’ll be the Lady of the clan! How grand will that be?” Her mother asked, holding Gemma’s face between her hands and squishing her cheeks.

“Ye look like a prize chicken,” her brother, Hamish, commented after all the initial fuss from her parents was over.

Ian, the eldest, knocked Hamish on the head lightly.

“She doesnae need tae hear that now, ye dolt!” he hissed. Hamish growled and mumbled something under his breath, but they did not dare fight, especially not in the presence of their father.

“I think ye look well,” her other brother, Lyle, said.

“Stop butterin’ her up! It’ll only go right tae her heed. She’s tae be Lady, after all. Imagine how she’ll order us around then,” William said.

“Lads, that’s enough. Behave yourselves at the feast. William, if I hear that yer chasin’ after skirts again, I’ll tan yer hide, an—” the family descended into their usual chaos. Gemma only smiled faintly. After her brothers had been apprenticed out to various trades, it was rare that they were all in the same place. This should have been a special time indeed, but she could not help feeling morose. Ian, William, Hamish, and Lyle righted themselves when their father threatened to cut them off from the punch bowl and the spiced ale later. With that, they made their way over to the castle.

It was no use resisting. Her heart belonged to someone else, someone she would probably never see again. They would never understand.

The metal gave a satisfying clang against the anvil as Colin struck it with the hammer. Sparks flew from the red hot metal rod, giving a little more light to the otherwise dark blacksmith’s shed. As the days grew shorter, Colin’s sense of loneliness grew larger. He did not care for anyone in this small village, romantically or humanistically. He also did not care to speak, unless it was with a customer or it was absolutely required.

When it became too late in the day to work, and he knew the incessant clanging of metal would keep the other villagers up, he stopped. After Bryce had given him the choice to leave or die, they took refuge with Colin’s uncle. It was no castle life, but it was comfortable living, at least. It was better than being hunted for sport in the forest, which was what Bryce had basically threatened if Colin did not comply. Blacksmithing was good work for him. It allowed him to unleash his anger in a way that would not hurt anyone else, and it required a mental focus that distracted him from thoughts of Gemma.

But when the day was done, and there was no work to finish…such thoughts returned. He felt so ashamed that the last time he’d seen her, he left her weeping at the cliffs. That was the last image he had of her in his mind, and try as he might to picture other things, his thoughts always dragged him back to that one. And though he’d promised in his letter that wild horses could not drag him away from her and he’d find a way back, he wasn’t sure he could. The circumstances of his exile were nigh on ironclad. One could tell the truth after telling a lie, one could return something one stole, but one could not take back adultery. Even if Colin’s father was somehow allowed back, Colin still would not be happy if he could not have Gemma.

He took off his apron and hung it far from the furnace. As he was about to splash his face with cold water, he noticed someone standing in the doorway of the shop. Curious…as most villagers were back at their homes by now, likely making supper or winding down for the day.

“Aye, can I help ye?” Upon closer inspection, he realized it was an elderly woman, wrapped in a shawl and staring at him like he had two heads.

“Are ye Colin?” she asked, her voice just as weathered as her appearance.

“I am. How did ye ken my name? Is there somethin’ I can do for ye?”

“Nay, I dinnae think so. But thank ye for askin’. Ye seem a kind lad. ‘Tis not often newcomers arrive in the village. Word travels quick.”

Colin was a little confused as to the conversation, but he was not about to be an arse about it.

“Sure. If ye ever need anythin’, I’m here at the forge.”

She nodded, a grin spreading across that old face, then scurried away.

It was an odd interaction, to be sure. Colin shook his head and splashed his face with cold water. When one had the fortune to grow to that age, any sort of behavior could be forgiven.

He dismissed the interaction from his throughts. Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and try to sleep in order to forget it all, but his father and uncle were meeting for a drink at the local tavern and had invited him along. Uncle Angus had been so generous to let them stay at his home and work in his shop, so Colin could not say no to a kind invitation, especially if someone else was paying the tab.

As Colin and his father entered the tavern, the warm and welcoming aroma of woodsmoke and roasted meat enveloped them. The interior of the place was dimly lit, with flickering candles casting shadows on the walls. The low ceiling was supported by rough-hewn wooden beams, and the walls were adorned with antlers and other hunting trophies.

In the center of the room was a large fireplace, its flames dancing and crackling merrily. The heat from the fire was almost palpable, and the room was filled with the comforting sound of wood popping and burning. The tavern was bustling with activity, with patrons seated at rough wooden tables and benches, eating, drinking, and chatting loudly. The air was thick with the scent of ale and whisky, and the sound of tankards clinking together echoed throughout the room.

In one corner, a group of men were playing a lively tune on their instruments, the melody weaving through the conversations and laughter. Some patrons clapped their hands to the beat, while others swayed in their seats, lost in the music. The serving staff, dressed in simple but sturdy clothing, hurried back and forth from the kitchen to the tables, carrying trays laden with steaming dishes and frothing tankards. They moved with an effortless grace, navigating the crowded room with practiced ease.

Despite the lively atmosphere, there was a sense of coziness and intimacy there. The dim lighting and the warmth of the fire made it feel like a sanctuary from the cold and dark outside, and the camaraderie of the patrons and the friendly banter of the staff created a sense of community.

Colin only wished he was in good enough spirits to appreciate it. Honestly, it was nicer than the tavern outside the castle back in Aberdeen, but everything had rather lost its luster for him, considering his situation. Still, a drink might help. Colin had to peer above the din, smoke, and dim lighting to find the table where his father, uncle, and cousin Robert were sitting.

“Who kept ye at the shop so late?” Uncle Angus teased, a smile evident beneath his beard.

“I could tell ye a tale about the boss, but I’ll keep quiet,” Colin said. His uncle was such a cheery man, and Colin got the feeling that his sour mood was sometimes overly upsetting to him, so he really, really tried to be his charming old self in these situations.

His comment made the table roar with laughter, and Colin wondered if he’d ever laugh like that again.

“Now that we’re all here, I’ll go get us the first round,” Angus offered and took Robert with him.

There was an awkward silence between Colin and his father as they waited. They’d talked about their situation briefly, when they were first exiled. At first, Colin had resented his father for the exile, but then realized it had been in the name of love. He could not fault him for that. But there was another topic hanging between them that they hadn’t yet broached — the length of the affair. After it came to light, Colin pieced together the timeline in his head, so when he wasn’t wondering about Gemma he was wondering whether or not Bryce was really the laird’s son. If that could be proven, that could be their way back into the clan. It was, of course, just a theory, and clearly not one his father was ready to talk about.

“I’ve heard some news taeday,” his father said tentatively.

“Aye?”

Captain Frazier licked his lips nervously and cleared his throat.

“I’ve heard that…erm…Miss Gemma and Bryce are now betrothed.”

Colin knew that such a thing was inevitable, but it still hurt to hear it. Rather than feeling like a gut punch, however, it was more like a sour ache had settled in his stomach. He said nothing, but heaved a sigh knowing he’d work this out over the anvil later.

“I ken…that ye still love her. An’ I’m sorry ‘tis happenin’ like this. But I wanted ye tae hear it from me rather than discover it on yer own.”

“I understand. Thank ye for tellin’ me,” he replied, his sullen attitude returning.

“I just hope he treats her well. ‘Tis all we can wish for her,” his father continued.

Colin thought the same thing. Even though Bryce had been his best friend up until recently, he had a sense of entitlement that had always rubbed him the wrong way. Unless something significant were to happen to change his behavior, he’d always be like that. It pained him to think that he saw Gemma only as a conquest and a right, and not a person to be cherished and adored. She deserved better, and he knew he could give it to her.