Highland Challenge (Highland Generations Book 1) Read online

  He swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. Does he wish me to wed her? The thought made him shudder. While he would do anything within reason for the laird, he drew the line at marrying his daughter. They had never really gotten along, and he would someday be laird of Clan Fraser, so could not forgo his duty to his own people and remain here as Mareal’s husband.

  After offering him another sip of ale, Andrew returned the tankard to the table and eased the laird’s head to the pillow. “What is it you wish me to do for Mareal?” he finally asked, hoping he was wrong, and she was already married with bairns of her own.

  “I want you to help me find her a suitable husband. My time on this earth grows short, and I want to die knowing that she is married to a man who can take over for me when I am gone.”

  “I can understand that, but why did you pick me to help you?” Kayden’s anger when he found out his uncle’s requests, and how he would challenge him for the right to be laird were Andrew’s first thoughts, but he knew better than to say anything. After what Seamus told him about the falling out between the laird and his nephew, he felt it was best not to open an old wound.

  The task of selecting a suitable husband for Mareal would prove an equal or even greater challenge. Andrew had no idea where to start looking, what might please her, or that she would even listen to him. If she was the same headstrong hellion he knew as a bairn, he figured he had a difficult journey ahead.

  “I trust your judgement and believe you will do whatever it takes to honor my last requests,” the laird said.

  “Forgive me, m’lord, but I havena seen your daughter in nine summers. I know naught about her, let alone what she might desire in a husband.”

  “What Mareal wants isna as important as it is to ensure she marries well,” the MacCurtry declared. “Acting on my behalf, I want you to meet with her prospective suitors, then choose the man you think best suited to take my place.”

  Andrew took a step back. “Surely there is someone better to make the choice. I dinna know where to start, or where to look.”

  “I trust you to do right by her and by me, Andrew. I only wish she had been here to greet you.” He blew out a heavy sigh. “Raising the lass on my own was na an easy task. I love my daughter with all my heart, but must admit that she’ll need a man with a strong will, and if necessary, a firm hand. I want you to find my daughter a husband who—”

  The door to the chamber flew open and hit the wall with a loud thud, interrupting their conversation.

  Andrew jerked his head in the direction of the noise, catching an angry glower from what appeared to be a young woman. She stood in the doorway, clad in the attire of a man, her face smudged with dirt.

  “Do I have naught to say in this matter, Father?” She stormed into the chamber and scowled at Andrew.

  Chapter Two

  Mareal warily eyed the young warrior standing beside the bed, then spoke to the laird. He looked familiar, but it didn’t matter, she refused to have her future decided for her. “I wish you would include me in the conversation when discussing my future, Da. I am a woman grown and capable of making my own choices and decisions,” she snapped. “I’m na sure that I even want to marry. But if I do, I would like to choose my own husband.”

  “Hold your tongue, Mareal. I am your father and will decide when and who you marry,” the MacCurtry said. “As long as there is a breath left in this body, you will abide by my rules and follow my orders.”

  Hearing the weakness in his voice tugged at her heart, and the last thing she wanted to do was upset her father. She loved and respected him, but she refused to consent to his plan to marry her off to someone she didn’t know or care for without making her feelings known.

  Until now, her da had considered marriage proposals from various suitors, but he had never told her who she had to select. She’d always believed the final decision would be her own. Having just seen eighteen summers, she still had plenty of time to wed, and had more to say about the matter, but refrained from further comment when the laird broke into a coughing fit.

  Mareal felt terrible for defying her father and causing him grief. The fact he asked this stranger to pick her husband could only mean one thing. His condition was much worse than he’d led her to believe, and it tore her up inside to think that the man she loved and admired her entire life might soon be gone.

  Deep down, she knew her father’s time was short, but until this moment, she refused to accept it. Instead of dwelling on his illness, she did her utmost to remain positive and hopeful. But she could no longer deny the truth. She lifted her chin, fisted her hands at her sides, and swallowed against the lump of emotion in her throat. “Forgive me, Da, I dinna mean to upset you.”

  The stranger gently lifted the laird’s head and offered him some ale. “Drink slowly, m’lord, and try to catch your breath.”

  Regretting her outburst, Mareal hurried to the bedside, arriving as her father settled and began to breathe more easily. She clasped his hand and brought it to her lips. “I’m sorry, Da.”

  The MacCurtry stroked her cheek with his thumb. “My beautiful, bold daughter. You are strong like your mother, but the time has come for you to marry. When I am gone, your husband will take my place. I wish I could live to see my grandbabes, but—”

  “Dinna say such things.” She pressed two fingers to his mouth. “You are na going to die. Donella will heal you, and afore you know it, you will be healthy again.” She fought back the tears welling in her eyes, but one escaped and slid down her cheek, dampening her father’s knuckles.

  “Dinna cry, daughter, I have lived a good life, and if the Almighty has decided it is my time, so-be-it. But afore I go, I want to know your future is set, along with that of the clan. That is why I have asked Andrew to help in the selection of a husband.”

  Andrew?

  Her heart began to pound so loudly she was certain everyone in the room could hear it. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her chest constricted. She slowly lifted her gaze until she looked the stranger in the eye, then nipped at her bottom lip to keep her mouth from gaping open. She’d been so angry when she entered the room and overheard the conversation, she hadn’t taken a good look at the man. But now she had, she realized that Andrew Fraser had returned to MacCurtry Castle.

  It was difficult not to stare at the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes upon. Finely chiseled features, high cheekbones, hair the color of a raven’s wing, and dark eyes that seemed as if they could see into her soul. His broad chest, muscular arms, and narrow waist were an obvious testament to hours spent training in the lists. Judging by his appearance, she had no doubt he was as fierce a warrior as he looked, yet his expression was not harsh or menacing in any way. In fact, there was a gentleness and even a sweetness in the tender way he comforted her father.

  “Mareal.” Andrew offered a curt nod.

  Her heart did a quick flip and she sucked in a gulp of air. It had been a long time since she’d seen Andrew Fraser, but he’d visited her dreams many a night. When she was a bairn, she’d hoped that someday they would marry, but Andrew had shown no interest in her, no matter how hard she tried to impress him. Once he returned to his home at Fraser Castle, she gave up all hope of ever seeing him again.

  Suddenly uncomfortable about her disheveled appearance, she smoothed her hands down the front of her soiled tunic, then tucked several stray strands of unruly hair behind her ear. She’d left at daybreak and ridden hard, trying to put some distance between herself and the castle. She needed some time to think, and hoped a visit to her favorite spot along the riverbank might help to clear her mind. On the way home, she’d stopped to help a crofter whose vegetable cart was stuck in the mud, so she could only imagine how filthy and unkempt she looked.

  “It has been a long time, Mareal,” Andrew said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “You are looking . . . well.”

  “As are you, Andrew.” Not knowing what else to say, Mareal padded to the window and peered outside. “Does
Donella know you opened the shutters? She is strict about keeping father’s chamber dark and warm. I am surprised she left his bedside.” She reached for the shutters to close them.

  Andrew joined her by the window and rested his hand over hers. “Leave them open for now. The chamber was so hot and stuffy, not to mention filled with smoke when I arrived, it is a wonder your da dinna suffocate. I will close them again before the healer returns.”

  Stunned and unnerved by a sudden spark of energy that surged between them, Mareal immediately tugged her hand free and squared her shoulders, but avoided making eye contact with Andrew. “See that you do.” She spun on her heel and returned to her father’s bedside.

  “I know you have not been well, but I have faith in Donella and see no reason for you to fash about finding me a husband. I also see no reason for Andrew to remain. I am sure he has plenty to do back at Fraser Castle.” She didn’t need or want him here and was convinced that the sooner he left, the sooner she could reclaim a sense of peace and control over her life.

  “I know this isna what you want to hear, Mareal, but he is staying until a husband has been selected.” The laird glanced in Andrew’s direction. “That is if he agrees to help me.”

  After a moment of silence, Andrew offered a hesitant nod. “I will do what I can.”

  The MacCurtry released a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. “Thank you. I have already sent out word that we will be considering prospective husbands. I’d expect the offers will start to arrive soon.”

  Not at all what she wanted to hear, and furious upon learning Andrew was staying, and that her father had already announced he was looking for a husband for her, Mareal could no longer remain quiet. “I canna believe you did that without telling me, Father. I am not a prize brood mare you can auction off to the highest bidder. Were mother here, she wouldna stand for any of this.” Again, she bit her lower lip to keep from saying any more. She knew how much he loved and missed his wife and regretted the words as soon as she uttered them.

  The laird lowered his gaze. “Well, your mam isna here. My decision must stand. Na only for your own good, but that of the clan.”

  “What about my life and what I want?” Afraid she would say something in the heat of the moment that she might later regret, she bolted from the chamber.

  ****

  Andrew watched Mareal’s hasty departure, and for the first time since she’d entered the room, his pulse slowed to a normal rhythm and the unexplained tightness in his chest eased. A woman’s presence had never affected him like this in the past, especially one he didn’t even like. But he had to admit that while her personality had not mellowed much, she had blossomed into a beautiful woman. At least what he could see beneath the smudges of dirt on her face.

  He imagined that once she washed and brushed her tangled hair, it would be a lustrous mane he’d love to run his fingers through. She had high cheekbones, a pert nose, delicate features, expressive emerald eyes, and a heart shaped mouth—her pink lips begging for a kiss. If rather than the garments of a stable lad, she wore a lady’s proper attire, he believed she’d look quite regal. Were circumstances different, he might even reconsider his reservations and try courting her himself.

  His momentary lapse in good sense over, he reminded himself that this was Mareal MacCurtry he was thinking about. A lass who gave him nothing but trouble when he was a lad, and the farthest thing from his ideal mate as he could imagine. The only reason he came was to help her father, and as soon as he found her a husband, he’d leave for home and put all thoughts of her behind him.

  “I am afraid you have your work cut out for you, lad,” the laird said. “Mareal was always a stubborn bairn, but if possible, she is more willful now than ever. Taming her willna be easy and she will need a husband who can manage her.”

  He couldn’t agree more, and if the laird was not in such poor health, and he hadn’t already promised to help, Andrew would have graciously bowed out and gladly depart for Fraser Castle as swiftly as his horse could carry him. Unfortunately, he had given his word.

  The MacCurtry was not much older than his own father, but the illness had aged him considerably. Instead of a warrior still in his prime, he looked like a withered old man. If this were Connor Fraser on his deathbed, Andrew knew how worried and upset he would be, so he could almost understand and excuse Mareal’s outbursts and her defiance. But he also understood the MacCurtry’s concern for the clan and his desire to see his daughter wed before he passed on. He didn’t ask to have this responsibility thrust upon his shoulders, but Andrew was determined to do his utmost to see it through.

  “I am sure she will come around,” Andrew said—not that he believed for a moment that any man could reason with the obstinate lass, let alone tame her.

  “It is strange, but I never feared death before now,” the laird confessed. “I always lived my life on the edge, was willing to fight for my clan and country, and to die for them if necessary. But I also believed my daughter would be taken care of and my position as chieftain filled by—” He stopped abruptly and glanced away.

  “By Kayden,” Andrew finished the laird’s sentence, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

  “Aye. But things change and there are no guarantees in life,” MacCurtry said. “I banished Kayden and he is no longer welcome, so I must now consider the future of the clan before I leave this earth.” The laird began gasping for air, then clutched at his chest, his face and lips turning a blue-grey hue.

  Andrew rested his hand on the laird’s shoulder. “Easy, m’lord. Mayhap you should sleep now, and we can continue our discussion later.” He wanted to ask what happened between them, a part of him hoping there still might be the chance of a reconciliation with Kayden. But given the scowl of disdain on the laird’s face when he mentioned his nephew’s name, and his sudden shortness of breath, he felt it best not to press him on the matter. If the MacCurtry wanted to tell him what his nephew did to infuriate him so, he would when the time was right. Until then, Andrew would do what he could to help and prayed the Almighty would give him the answers and a means by which to accomplish the task before him.

  The MacCurtry clutched Andrew’s hand. “Time grows short. We need to talk about this now,” he sputtered. “Mareal and the clan must be seen to as soon as possible.”

  “You mentioned sending word out about your quest for suitors. What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “After speaking with the clan elders, I decided to hold a tournament to narrow the field, then a masked ball.”

  “A tournament and a masked ball?” Andrew scratched his head. He knew what the laird meant by holding a competition to determine a man’s strength and brawn, but a ball where the attendees wore masks was something he’d never heard of before.

  “Aye,” the laird rasped. “A test of not only of physical strength, but also of honor, character, wits, and will. Those who wish to vie for my daughter’s hand must be either invited or prove their worthiness to compete. You will meet with each man before the tournament and weed out unsuitable candidates. Only those who measure up will be asked to participate.”

  “And the ball?” Andrew inquired.

  “It may sound like an odd idea, but I felt it would be a chance for Mareal to get to know the men on a more personal level, based on their conversations and na only on appearance,” the laird explained. “While you will make the final decision, I hope that she might help to narrow down the number to one or two men who not only fare well at the tournament, but she also enjoys talking with.”

  Again, Andrew found himself at a loss for words, the responsibility of making such a decision and the fate of Clan MacCurtry was a heavy weight to carry. Mareal balked at the idea of her father’s plan to auction her off to the highest bidder, and he could not see how she would accept this as a better alternative.

  He had a sister and a female cousin about Mareal’s age, and if faced with the same situation, they too would rebel, and he could not say he blamed them. He gre
w up in a household of strong, independent women who were not afraid to speak their mind or to follow their hearts. Like his mother, Cailin, and his aunts, Mareal was not the typical, dutiful, subservient daughter of a Highland laird, so getting her to the altar against her will was not going to be easy.

  The men of Clan Fraser were not afraid of a challenge, and Andrew was no exception. He met them head on, determined to succeed at all cost. However, this could prove to be the toughest undertaking he’d faced. Give him a battle against skilled warriors, even one with the odds stacked against him, and he’d likely emerge victorious. But dealing with a stubborn, irate woman was totally different, and a fight he was not certain he would win.

  Chapter Three

  Andrew waited for the laird to fall asleep and for Donella to return to the chamber before heading down to meet with Seamus. As he neared the great hall, his stomach rumbled. A hot meal and tankard of ale, or a wee dram of whisky sounded good about now, but given the task he’d just been handed and the way his body betrayed him when he first saw Mareal, he was certain that one mug of spirits would not be enough.

  “There you are, lad. I was beginning to think you had gotten lost.” Seamus stood and motioned with a wave of his hand for Andrew to join him at a trestle table near the hearth. “I hope you dinna mind, but I started without you.” After draining the contents of his tankard, he slammed the empty mug on the table and belched. “Bring us more of this fine brew and a platter of food for Andrew, Maggie my love.” He patted a passing maid’s behind.

  The lass responded with a harsh glower of disapproval.

  “She doesna look pleased, Seamus,” Andrew said as he took a seat across from his friend.

  “Och, she loves me, lad, and just doesna want everyone to know,” he said and wiggled a brow when Maggie returned with a jug of ale, some bannocks, and a trencher of stew.

  “The day I fall for the likes of you, Seamus Glen, is the day pigs grow wings and fly. Fondle my arse again and my da will lop off your fingers.” She scowled at him, then placed the food and drink on the table, her expression softening when she glanced at Andrew. “I hope this will do, m’lord. You missed the evening meal, but Cook still had some mutton stew simmering in the pot.”