Page 1 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
PROLOGUE
Queen’s Edictfor Her People in England and Scotland: for the Union and Peace of Our Countries
In our kingdom, we know the Grace of the Most Holy Heaven and now enjoy a manifest glory in this great land, and to keep that peace, to extend goodwill and binding ties between the Kingdom of England and the Nation of Scots, comes the wisdom of Queen Marianna, long may she reign.
Hers is the royal blood of one hundred and twenty-three queens and kings, and so shall her Edict in this high year be obeyed gladly by her subjects.
If any unmarried laird or laird’s son from the Lowlands or Highlands is of age and unwed, he shall seek out a bride in the south, an English lady of noble blood.
Thus, our great land shall be so bound as it should be…
To the freedom and health of our great land, may we be united forevermore.
Any couples who wed within the first five years of this Edict shall enjoy the Queen’s favor and a rich bounty.
Long live Queen Marianna!
CHAPTER 1
“The Queen has gonemad with power if she thinks we will marry our only daughter off to some Scottish beast.”
Emma froze at the sound of her father’s booming voice.
Matthew Wells, the Earl of Cumbria and Fairisle Lakes, raged on occasion, usually about politics that hurt his pockets, or his enemies’ triumphs at the gaming hells, or a turn of foul weather when he wanted to hunt.
Usually, it was an amusing matter, as Emma and her mother would exchange exasperated but affectionate glances.Moreover, Matthew never raged at his Countess, much less Emma, who he doted on.
And so, his fury cut straight through Emma, for it was edged with fear.
I did not think Father capable of feeling fear.
“Easy, Matthew,” came Lavinia’s voice after a moment, as though also surprised by his outburst. “We shall appeal to our friends. Or directly to Her Majesty about her Edict. Or perhaps we misunderstood?—”
“Lavinia,” Matthew cut in, his voice low and urgent. Emma crept closer to the door, resting a shaking hand on it. “It leaves nothing to question.” There was a rustle of paper. “If any unmarried laird or laird’s son from the Lowlands or Highlands is of age and unwed, he shall seek out a bride in the south, an English lady of noble blood.”
“Exactly,” Lavinia replied in a too-bright voice, as though trying to convince herself. “How many of the Lairds will choose to do so? Are the Scottish not an insular people? They do not care for us.”
“The Queen is not giving them a choice, my dear,” Matthew said with a heavy sigh. “And too many. She dangles the noble daughters of England as not only bloody bait, but also riches. After all the uprisings among those barbaric people—my God, think of the bloodshed of the Wednesday Uprising alone.” He paused. “Never mind the defeat of our fine English army, any laird with sense will jump at this opportunity.”
“But…” Lavinia let out an incredulous laugh. “Our Emma is not meant for the mountains or to be a warrior’s wife. She is to go to town and join the Court. She…”
Silence filled the room, and Emma reared back, not sure what was happening within.
Was her mother weeping? Were they holding hands and whispering? She pressed closer to the door, but she heard nothing. Were they frozen in shock?
No. Emma relaxed. Her father had a quick and cunning mind. He would think of something. He never let any challenge stop him.
“Matthew, say something,” Lavinia said in a soft voice. “You are scaring me.”
“For I am scared, wife,” Matthew muttered in a bitter tone. “I freely admit that. I have not felt such fear since our daughters…” He stumbled over his words, and Emma’s spine went rigid. Her father never tripped over his speech, not even when he was drunk or weary. “Not since ourdaughter'sbirth. Or our first babe we lost so many years ago.” A long pause, then a bitter sigh. “Or since I saw the Scottish hang a boy for daring to feed his own people.”
Lavinia drew in a sharp breath, and Emma heard a rustle of skirts, as though her mother had stood up. A moment later, sure enough, she heard the quick clicking of her mother’s shoes on the stone floor.
“Matthew, I told you twenty-one years ago, and I will tell you again—I shall not listen to you speak of that boy’s murder. I cannot…” Her voice broke. “When you told me how his mother screamed for him… It haunts me.”
“Aye,” Matthew said wearily, and there was a clink of glass. Emma could picture her father standing by the mantelpiece, pouring himself a glass of fine whisky, bright and deep gold inside the thick glass. “It haunts me, too. To hear her screams as those ruffians drove me off. Or how I came upon an entire village emptied of its folk—forced to attend the hanging of their Laird’s son. A lad who fed and cared for veterans, for the old and ill.”
“You are lucky you did not lose your life that day as well,” Lavinia said in a sharp voice.
