McBain's Bride Read online

  McBain’s Bride

  By

  Tara Hill

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2009 by Terrell Riley

  Published by Terrell Riley at Smashwords. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Illustration by Michael Jensen

  I stood under the portico protected from the rain. Two meager lanterns lit our door to guide the traveler to warmth. The portico offered deep shelter but I stood at its edge. It had been built wide enough that two fine carriages could share its space. I stood on a favorite perch, the outside pillar base granting me height above the gravel drive. I looked back at the massive doorway and slate steps leading up, almost a full this storey above the drive. The rain pounded up the stone steps from parts of the portico open to the elements and pooled around the lanterns; droplets danced in the light. My wool cloak pressed against my legs; cold mist blew across my face. I could not see past the steps into the black night. I was expecting the carriage from the castle to arrive before midnight, the carriage carrying my betrothed to me. Something in the wind called to me as I stood under the portico of our old mansion, something stirred in me as it had in my ancestresses for generations. I shivered from the cold or was it anticipation? I thought about it for a while and then did as all my grandmothers for generations and generations had done, I pouted.

  My older brothers and sister are all married and producing children at regular intervals. I thought I had escaped that particular fate but a month ago my father announced the great merger of estates, our family wealthy with land and the McBain’s wealthy with gold. The source of the McBain’s wealth was a mystery. I think it has something to do with the lights I see off the coast at midnight on the monthly highest tide. The source of our land was no mystery, all inherited, all fairly fertile, and well watered. That's about all one can say, we weren't a particularly prosperous family just well planted. I was to be merged with the McBain's, the price of my virginity: a new roof. Oh and of course great pride for my family, a place in the national register and if I behaved, an introduction at court. All of these things I could live quite nicely without, especially the husband. I wanted nothing to do with the McBain's, their mysterious lights and their moldy castle called the Doom. What kind of a name is that? Why not something light and festive like McBain's Spring or McBain's Fairy Castle of Drafts and Leaks. I knew these things, I had been there.

  Several years ago I had spent a few nights at McBain’s Doom, a large drafty old place on a promontory overlooking the Irish Sea. One part of Doom is a replica of Caerlaverock Castle, our local 13th-century castle with a moat. With its beautiful triangular symmetry we proudly speak of the Maxwells who held off the English army with just sixty men. In Dumfries proper, you would think that the siege ended but a week ago.

  The Doom has grown over the years so it has sprawling and eclectic additions to the manor. The family lives in the newer addition, which isn’t drafty, with such modern conveniences of high ceilings, multiple fireplaces and is beautifully decorated to show the family’s wealth. I remember the outside was a Palladian edifice with arches and columns made from the local sandstone. The front door opened into a spacious and modern rococo interior with beautiful gold and floral friezes that set off the exquisitely painted ceilings. When I was seventeen, my sister Alice and I stopped to visit on a journey home from a cousins wedding in Glasgow. Despite the modern opulence of the modern buildings, I loved the Caerlaverock replica; I loved creeping around and pretending I was a great lady of this beautiful ancient and somewhat abandoned castle. The McBain family claims that it was completely abandoned but I know that it is lived in or haunted. Ever a night wanderer, I roamed the castle from top to bottom each night long after the staff and residents had sought their beds. The night I found the body I had been up in the north tower, a crenellated round turret. I had climbed through a once sealed door located behind an ancient tapestry (I was insufferably curious) and found stairs going up and hence, I climbed up.

  Climbing the circular stairs, I kept my left hand on the wall; the stairs were solid but worn with time. Although no actual battles were fought here, the architect had replicated the arrow slits of Caerlaverock but also used the more modern invention of glass windows. Over time some of the windows had broken; the wind from the Irish Sea blew in fresh air. My lantern illuminated the mold and cracks on the stairs. Focusing on the moonlit view out the windows, I literally tripped over a body. Not being the hysterical sort, really how could one be with three older brothers constantly laying siege on me with one prank after another: I screamed. A person never ran down slippery winding stairs faster than I ran, straight into the stomach of a giant who steadied me with a “Whoa, lass,” as if I was a horse.

  “A body, up there,” I pointed up and bent over to throw up over his shiny Hessians.

  “Auch, now Lassy,” the giant cooed and tossed me over his shoulder and finished the descent. I had a unique view of his backside as I jostled up and down with the cadence of his steps. Upside down, I was, and rather confused; I guess ‘auch now’ were some secret Scottish words that was supposed to be reassuring or perhaps translates to ‘you are a crazy wench’. After several minutes of bouncing around upside down through doors and downstairs, I was promptly and rather forcefully returned to my sister who had been peacefully sleeping in a mammoth four-poster. The giant dumped me next to her sleeping form.

  “I found her in a locked tower,” He told my sister as she shot awake at finding a giant at the foot of her bed. Alice glared at me until I felt like heaving again on the bed clothes. Refraining from further humiliation, I climbed up the bed and under the blankets, cowering away from the giant.

  “I saw a body.”

  “Nonsense,” said the giant.

  “It was a body of a woman with long white hair. She had funny clothes on.”

  “No, you saw a pile of clothes moldering in a decrepit tower that should be destroyed before it kills someone as it collapses.” He turned his glare from me to focus on Alice, his countenance softening as men’s always did when viewing Alice.

  “Miss Alice, please keep your sister under your control while in the Doom.”

  “Yes milord,” Alice stammered.

  “Milord?” I whispered to her as he stomped out. I climbed from the bed and ran to the window to point out to Alice the tower I had climbed. I could see the dark silhouette reaching towards the stars. I also saw lights glimmering in the arrow slits. Moldering clothes? HA. I wisely kept my own counsel and returned to bed with Alice.

  “He put his hand on my bum as he carried me.” I told her.

  “He mostly likely thought it was as tough as an old steer.”

  “He sort of held his hand steady.”

  “I am sure milord meant no disrespect to you, child, he surely would have preferred my bum which is ever so much softer than your
s.”

  “Rounder.” I offered, “And larger.” I avoided the feather pillow she threw at me. I laughed as I snuggled under the covers to the sounds of Alice’s laughter. With the quiet, Alice quickly fell asleep and amused me with her not so dainty snores. She has become so much more proper and less fun since becoming a wife and a mother. I couldn’t wait to tell tales on her to her children as a proper aunt should do.

  We left a few days later. I never saw the Lord Giant again and no one ever mentioned a body.

  Now I am betrothed to a McBain, probably the Lord Giant.

  ~~~~~

  My brother came out front and stood below me in the rain. “We will invite the McBain in; you don’t need to stand out here.”

  “Oh, Robert,” I looked down at my oldest brother, “I really just thought I could travel between homes and play spinster aunt to all my nieces and nephews. You know, teach them to hunt and fish. What was Father thinking?”

  “He was thinking we need a new roof, Bridget, so you will do your duty to this family and our tenants and marry the McBain.”

  “They murder old ladies,” I muttered but Robert had already gone into the house.

  I am not married because my father had a difficult time finding a husband who wanted a wife that was too short, too boney, too opinionated and could outshoot most men. He had already given me the roof lecture. I still didn’t understand why Lord Michael McBain didn’t want to meet me first.

  The wedding was next week. The bans had been read, the papers signed and the dowry agreed upon, all without my say, my opinions or my dreams. I dreamed of love, of romance, of adventure, all of which would have been squashed out of me by Alice had she but known. I stood alone outside under the portico for another half hour waiting for my betrothed, watching the rain. I guess he was as excited about the betrothal as me. He did not arrive. Perhaps he had changed his mind; perhaps highwaymen had killed him, one could only hope. At midnight I gave up and sought my bed for my last night at home. By next week I would be no better than chattel sold to the highest bidder and living at McBain’s Doom. My sleep was haunted by bad dreams, the first of many strange nights and days to come.

  Morning dawned on an empty stable, no fine carriage for the bride and groom. My family gathered for breakfast overlooking the five terraced gardens. One didn’t notice the declining tidiness through the bullioned glass. All the adults were present. Everyone had gathered here to see me off to the Doom and to see me get married. Maryse sat across from Robert, their son not at her side as he was still recovering from a bad cold. My sister Alice and her husband Marcus were giggling over the eggs at the sideboard as ridiculous as when they were newlyweds. James and Charles had already heaped most of the sausages on their plates leaving little for me. I walked in and crossed over to the sideboard and grabbed a plate.

  “No McBain?” James greeted me. “Oh well, you are too skinny to marry anyway.”

  I answered by throwing a roll at his head.

  “You can’t be throwing rolls once you are the Lady of a castle” Maryse laughed.

  I tossed a roll at her too. Robert caught it and tossed it right back. The roll smacked the back of my head. Pickles, our wolfhound gobbled up a roll to supplement his breakfast. The ceiling needed paint. A dry stain hovered over the sideboard; another problem for my virginity to fix. The buzz of conversation in the morning room threatened to bring down the already dubious roof. Where was the McBain? Why had his outriders not arrived? With a dearth of answers, my brothers decided to send out a search party. Perhaps the carriage had overturned. We intended to look.

  We all changed into riding clothes, theirs rather fine, and mine a seedy old set of clothes Charles had long outgrown. The baggy britches, vest and shirt hid my more remarkable attributes and my hair was braided into a crown well hid by an oversized hat of Robert’s. I saddled my large gelding, Thor, long beloved by my brothers and myself. I rode astride as I had for years ceasing to shock Alice and Maryse. We gathered in the yard equipped with supplies for an extended search, aid for injuries as well as our bows and arrows for a quick hunt. Robert laid out our search plans when we heard the sound of a single horse galloping up the drive.

  The horse and rider emerged from the side of the house and came to a halt, kicking up a hail of gravel. The rider was greeted by seven shocked faces.

  “Good day, sir,” Robert ventured.

  “Good day to you all.” The rider sat up straighter in the saddle. “I have been charged with saying some words to your family, sir. Please listen.”

  “Could we offer some refreshment?” my sister Alice offered. Few men could resist anything Alice offered.

  “No thank you, madam, I must repeat the words charged to me for your hearing.”

  He was made of sterner stuff than my brother-in-law if he could resist Alice. I was interested in this tall one.

  “The McBain could not make this journey.” He began in a booming voice that echoed off the walls in our courtyard. “He has requested I return to his home with Lord Robert Garnet’s son as a guest pending Lady Bridget’s arrival later this week. Which of you is Sir Robert?”

  I heard Alice gasp and watched my brothers bristle and shift their horses to face this threat.

  “Lady Bridget may arrive at any time to be prepared to wed Lord McBain in exactly one week in the Lord's Chapel. Her family is encouraged to attend her. Do not send her alone.”

  Maryse, Robert’s wife ran to his side and placed her hands on his leg as he sat atop his steed. “No, you can’t let him go. My boy is…” she wept.

  Robert dismounted, stood at his wife’s side, wrapping his arm around her to calm her.

  “Mother, I’m right here, ready to go,” I improvised madly, “I am old enough to travel alone and I can do this for Bridget and for my family.” My brothers watched me in stony silence as they contemplated whether or not to go along with my duplicity. I trained at their hands; they were not shocked.

  “Please take some refreshment, sir, while I say goodbye to my son,” my brother extemporized while yanking my reins and removing us both from prying ears.

  “What are you thinking? You can’t go unescorted with some servant to a castle that is at best three days ride from here.”

  “He thinks I am a boy. I am wearing Charles’ clothes” I smirked, “Robert, you know me, I can ride, I can shoot and I can sleep out under the stars. Let me have this one last adventure before I marry the giant of Castle Doom.”

  “Alone with a servant Bridge. I don’t think this is a good idea. Father and Mother would not allow this.”

  “They are far away in some villa in Italy and they left you in charge, Robert. Let me have my fun. I will do my duty and marry the awful giant.”

  “You shouldn’t judge Michael McBain, Bridget. He is rumored to be quite nice. Hold your judgment until you meet him.”

  “Maybe I have. Alice and I met someone coming back from Cousin Harriet’s wedding when I was seventeen.” Robert stared at me thoughtfully and then straightened.

  “My brave sister, Bridget, never let this servant know you are a mere woman. Don’t speak to him much and wear the hat down over your face. Maryse will be forever in your debt, she could never let little Robbie go just now. He has been so sick these last few weeks and he is just regaining his strength. The servant will take you straight to the Doom because he thinks he is escorting the grandson and heir.”

  Robert collected the supplies the others carried and tied them to my saddle; a bedroll was sent for and strapped behind my saddle. I gazed fondly at my siblings and moved Thor back to join the McBain servant.

  “Your name, sir?” I asked in what I hoped was a lowered voice.

  “I am McBain’s man. You may call me Ian.”

  “Call me Robert, for my father.”

  “Come along, young Robert and try to keep up,” and with that he wheeled his mount and trotted down the drive. Alice and Maryse were holding each other crying. Charles’ hand was atop his head clearly signaling me
to keep my hair hidden knowing that it might be a tad bit difficult given its length and unruly nature. James waved gaily then gestured at his chest. I waved back thinking no man yet had admired my less than ample female attributes. I counted on my station to protect me should I be found out by McBain’s man. I continued to wave gaily at my family and mouthed the words “I love you” and clucked at Thor to start my journey. My greatest adventure was starting, I signaled to Thor to pick up some speed as it started to rain, surely a sign from the heavens on the folly of my actions.

  ~~~~~

  We rode in silence for hours before stopping to rest the horses. We walked off the path into the forest and under a copse of large willows and alders to provide us some respite from the rain. Cold rain, wet rain, soggy boots, damp clothes. I contemplated the English language and its plethora of synonyms for uncomfortable and wet while I dismounted. I walked to Thor’s head and stroked his muzzle. He shook his mane and butted me letting me know he expected better than a three-hour slog through the mud. A giggle escaped at his antics, following my hand looking for his treat. I glanced at Ian. He did not appear to have heard my laugh. I watched as he cared for his horse. They certainly grew them large in McBain’s Doom. His thighs bulged beneath his wet breeches, each muscle clearly defined. His calves were covered with finely made boots, now mud spattered. I followed his trunk up to his face and noticed for the first time how beautiful he was. My toes curled, every inch of him called to me and made me shiver with longing. His dark blonde hair curled in its cue. His face was handsome and square, with strong cheekbones topped by piercing blue eyes. His skin lightly tan, his hands strong and sure wrapped around the horse’s reins told me that he was a working man, used to work and riding. His lashes were spiky from the rain. He caught me staring; I turned away before he could see me blush. I pushed my hat further down on my head and ducked away from him under the bough of the willow tree that provided us this brief reprieve.