Chattan Bride

Chapter One

January, 1217. Gillian and her sister Isabel clamorously entered the great hall still shaking their skirts from the snow that stubbornly clung in icy clumps. The dogs greeted them with deep, loud barks only forcing them to shout over the sudden noise that the warm hall elicited. Their father, Baron Richard, commanded peace, immediately bringing the girls to silence and the dogs to heel at his side. Gillian, though the elder of the two, began to giggle. Isabel hushed her sister and assisted her in removing the hardened snow weighing down the edges of Gillian's heavy red skirt. Neither had yet noticed the guest leaning carelessly against the mantle.

These are just little girls, Alysandir thought. Aye, he had been told they were young, but was his bride to be a helpless child? As he was told the older girl was already promised, it would be the youngest who would be his bride. His eyes rested on the taller sister, and though her eyes were large, almost too large, they were an appealing shade of blue. And her lips seemed like a large red smear again too big for her little face. She was assisting her sister in kicking the snow from her shoes. Now the pretty sister in red, though barely fifteen if his eyes gauged correctly, would do quite well as his bride as she grew. She had an easy smile and already had an ample bosom. Her blue eyes were bright and happy and her skin was as pure as the snow from which she had come. And he had a preference for blond hair. Aye, she would do just fine. If he was to obey his new liege lord, King Alexander II, marriage to her was necessary.

He had stayed too long in England and it was wearing on him. Requested to accompany his king, Alexander, to Canterbury to do homage to the invading Capetian king of England in August, Alysandir had been pressed into staying there during the tumultuous battles and the death of King John of England and the treaty which sent the Capetian king home only a couple of months ago. King Alexander of Scotland had recently settled the border dispute with the counselors to the English King Henry III, as yet a child, to stabilize what borders the English could as they struggled to regain control of their quickly disintegrating continental interests. It was settled upon that a Scottish laird with influence must marry an English border bride with a view to an heir for peace. However noble this idea sounded to the kings and their counselors in their private deliberations, it sounded like punishment to Alysandir.

"Daughters," Richard called to the pair who were still catching their breaths from the cold. "Come greet our guest." Surprised and still snow-blinded, both spun to immediate attention and came forward as gracefully as two trembling little flowers to the edge of the table. "Alysandir, I present my eldest Gillian, who is betrothed to Henry de Vescy of Alnwick." Gillian had been trained to move to her guest and curtsy politely, but could not move toward the strangely dressed giant without bringing Isabel's elbow.

"He looks so odd," she pleaded with Isabel who shook off her sister with the command to go. After the briefest curtsy, she rushed back to Isabel's side.

Alysandir was disappointed. He had mistaken the taller of the two as the eldest daughter. But Gillian was the oldest and prettiest, and was already claimed by another. His task had no discernible personal advantage. If there was one virtue he had learned in his long years of responsibility in training new soldiers, it was to hide his frustration. Isabel, the youngest, was less appealing than her sister, but she did not have to be coaxed to make her greeting, as did Gillian. Nay, she approached him with a warm smile, made a perfect curtsy and even took the liberty to ask how his journey had been.

"Pleasant enough," he responded apathetically. Isabel nodded and smiled up at him as if to say: Well, of course it was pleasant if your journey brought you to my wonderful home.

His deep voice had shaken her to the bone though her smile hid her alarm. His kilt was of deep red with lines as blue as the sky on a summer's day and flecks of green, and was familiar to her from wartime deliberations she attended at her father's knee beneath the table. The border war had prevented interaction with the enemy Scots though her father had always told them that their marriages would be political alliances and they must learn the Gaelic and Norman-French tongues and obey the strange rules they would impose. But, Isabel thought, this was the first time she was presented to her father's enemy and it was hard to take her eyes off of him. The silent moment brought her back to her senses and she curtsied again, deeply in case she stared too long and offended him, and moved back to Gillian's side. Luckily she was promised to the kindest man Isabel had ever met, Henry. It was all Gillian ever talked about. Perhaps this man was sent to discuss the prospective eligible men in Scotland and present their names for her father's perusal.

"She is too young," Alysandir stated lowly. The curious pair could have overheard even his whisper.

"I am in agreement," Richard said with his eyes fixed on Isabel. "The directive from the king stated only that the marriage be performed. I ask you to delay all except its consecration until she is older. In truth, I am told she is not yet capable of producing an heir. I vouch that she speaks with authority and can capably command a household. She has been trained to obey her husband and will not question the purpose of this alliance."

"It was wise of you to teach her. Life would be difficult for her if lessons such as this were not given early and instruction not provided." The warrior crossed his arms at his broad chest and looked hard at the little thing called Isabel. Bedding her would kill her at this age. Perhaps his own father should have instructed him better on the purpose of a political alliance such as this. He had not pictured his wedding day to be so dreary. No, he had not pictured his wedding to an English girl, much less to a child bride such as this.

"Alysandir, I speak to you as her father now. Sit, please." It took Richard a full minute after the request had been met to continue. "I am fond of the little one. Her mother's last request was to see Isabel sitting in my lap at her bedside. This one you will treat well, and this is not a request, Laird."

Their father spoke softly and the girls could not hear what was said to the oversized guest. Whatever was spoken was agreed upon and the battle-scarred warriors stood simultaneously.

"William," Richard called to his first in command. A silent order was immediately obeyed and the young man disappeared from the hall. A rush of cold air went right up Gillian's spine and she trembled a little. Isabel was completely unaware of what was about to occur. It was her father's wish that she remain ignorant of this meeting until the time came when she had to be informed that her life as she knew it was over. In truth, it would have been her nature to build an army against anything she disliked greatly. No, he thought, that wasn't fair. It was, however, an apt description of her illegitimate half-brother, Gilbert, the son he could not and would never recognize as his heir. "Isabel," her father beckoned her closer to the fire and motioned her to come between him and the bronzed warrior. She maneuvered around him and was drawn into her father's protective arms. She felt him sigh against her braids. The shadow cast by Alysandir disappeared as he moved to the corner of the room. "This is a happy day for you," he proclaimed in a voice that belied him. "You have been prepared for this since your birth and today you will marry a great man, Laird of the clan Chattan, Alysandir."

Isabel's head shot up and her eyes instantly pierced her husband to be. Gillian had crumbled into sobs in the corner and earned her a glance from her sister that instantly recovered her. This silent interaction made Alysandir nod in approval. This little one was strong. Had not her father told him that? But she was nearing fourteen and her strength now could spell disaster for him in the years ahead. He would have to show her who was in command. He was grateful that Isabel did not dissolve into tears upon hearing this news. Nay, her eyes were like daggers as they fell upon him again. But Isabel instantly controlled her rage and softened her expression upon this man. She was to obey him and be his wife.

"I know my duties, father," she looked up at him and saw a tear fall down his cheek. "Papa?" she brushed the tear from his face and suddenly worried that she should be crying as well. Her knees began to shake a little and she looked back at Alysandir. "I am not afraid of him. You don't need to worry for me."

"No, I do not, child. But you are not afraid of anything and for that I thank God. You will please your husband, Isabel," he commanded. In truth, he was glad Alysandir hadn't heard Isabel confess that he didn't scare her. It might offend him. Little this child would care for that.

"Yes, father."

"Up to your room, now. Change into your mother's wedding dress."