3

A Fearful Beginning

Belle was awakened by a strange motion. It was almost like she was . . . being rocked back and forth. She opened her eyes and realized she was looking at the cream-colored mane of a horse. A horse? She then felt . . . arms around her, and she jerked her head wildly.

"Relax, dearie," came a soft voice. "You're on my horse. I found ye lying on the ground with yer ankle broken. Did ye fall off yer horse or something?"

"N-No . . .I . . ." she turned and saw a stranger holding her against him, a stranger with brilliant eyes the color of dark chocolate and warm sienna hair that reached to his collar. He was wearing a yellow shirt and the plaid cloak over his shoulder was gold, blue, and green. With a start she recognized the preferred pattern as that of the Carlyles. "Who are ye, sir?"

"Raibeart Carlyle, at yer service," he began.

Just as Malcolm rode up on his big snorting stallion, and cried heartily. "So is the lassie awake yet, Rab? Because she looks like a mighty fine woman, wide hips and a good pair of tits, should provide ye with lots of bairns and then some!" He slapped his thigh and roared with laughter at his wit.

Belle was horrified. She was in the hands of the very man she had been trying so hard to run away from. Being held by him. And this other rude lout had acted like she was some—some broodmare at a horse fair, or a tavern wench! Certain she was going to end up a mere vehicle for making babies and running a house, and dreading that fate more and more, she began to struggle, despite the fact that she had a broken ankle. "No! Let me go!"

"Ah, the lass has fire in her!" Malcolm guffawed. "That'll stand ye in good stead when ye bed her, my lad!"

Rab went hot in shame and then coldly furious. "Papa, quit flapping yer tongue, and show some respect! This is my future bride, not some tart ye found in a tavern! God's blood!" He sought to keep hold of the struggling woman and not hurt her, and control his restive mount, for Auriel danced nervously beneath him. "Easy, lass," he said, trying to soothe both horse and woman. "Mirabelle, please! Stop tryin' to go away, b'fore ye fall an' hurt yerself worse."

But Belle was panicked, and she flung her good leg over the horse's back.

Rab nearly lost his hold on her, and clamped his arm across her breasts and his other on her waist. He halted Auriel, who was tossing her head and whinnying agitatedly, and cried, "Milady, will ye no' stop before ye break that ankle all over again and force me t' set it while ye're awake! Lass, look at me! Listen t' me!"

She began panting like a rabbit in a snare, her panicked attempts to get away thwarted, she started hyperventilating. She didn't even hear what he was saying, her whole being was invaded by the beast known as panic and fear.

"She's a bit o' a spitfire, aye!" Malcolm giggled.

"Papa, shut yer face!" Rab roared at his sire, not caring if it was his laird he was speaking so disrespectfully to at the moment. Then his tone changed to something soft as velvet and smooth as good Scotch whiskey. "Hey, lass. Hey. I want ye to take a deep breath, dearie. Breathe. Just breathe."

He held her with one arm, since she had stopped trying to slide down, and gently cupped her face in his free hand, making her look up at him, her frightened eyes reminding him of an indigo dye he had once seen imported from the East, a lovely dark blue with a hint of violet. He winced at the terror in them, and wondered just what she had heard of him to make her try and flee on an injured ankle. "Shh . . .I want ye to listen t' me . . . take a deep breath . . .in through yer nose and out through yer mouth . . .that's right . . .let the air go down . . .now again . . .and again . . ."

He talked her through the attack, feeling her heart racing like a petrified bird's beneath his hand. He barely noticed that his hand was rather inappropriately clutching her breast. Her heart felt as if it was going to jump out of her chest at any moment.

Belle obeyed the soothing commanding voice . . .finally managing to suck enough air into her starved lungs to stop the dark spots from dancing before her eyes. Jesu and the blessed Mother protect me!

"Just breathe . . ."

She sucked in a breath, then another, and another . . .until she didn't feel as if she were going to pass out in his arms. As a matter of fact, she noticed his arms were holding her as securely as if she were a babe, yet she didn't feel smothered. His arms weren't as muscular as the guards her father had employed to protect her, yet they were strong enough to keep her on the horse without falling. "I . . . ye . . . aren't . . . what I expected . . ." she stammered.

"And what did ye expect? An ogre that eats people?" he teased. "Mayhap a crude beast like my papa there? Aye, I can tell ye did . . . an' I'm gonna tell ye to disregard anything my papa just said . . . because he ain't marrying ye, I am!"

She began to relax slowly in his arms, the crippling terror draining out of her in dribbles. She could feel the back of her neck sticky with perspiration and beneath her arms as well. She ruefully thought she must smell like a barnyard and her hair was probably a rat's nest. Then she wondered why she even cared what she looked like. She didn't want to marry him, even if he did have the loveliest voice, like crushed velvet and it intoxicated her like the finest amber whiskey. She felt as if she could listen to it all day.

She shifted, trying to fix her leg, and it was then she noticed that his hand—was touching her breast. Going hot, she cried, "My lord! We've hardly met for you to be . . . err . . .so familiar with me!"

But another part of her actually enjoyed the feel of his hand there, and she felt herself go crimson like a sunset. She was no wanton! Yet she felt sensations she never knew existed at his touch.

"What? I . . ." and then he registered the same thing she did. "Forgive me," he murmured. "We may be forced t' marry, but I'm no' a man like my papa." He removed his hand, a bit reluctantly from her midriff and placed it lower down, about her waist. Then he lifted her enough so she could sit on his lap, a more comfortable position for her than sitting half on the saddle. "How's yer ankle?"

It was only then that Belle actually realized that her ankle was throbbing and feeling heavier than usual. "I . . . I must have passed out after the cow kicked me. She was giving birth and I helped her but as I was drying off the second calf she kicked me . . ."

"'Twas probably reflex, dearie. But what were ye doing delivering a cow? Shouldna yer shepherds be doin' such?"

"They would had they been nearby. But they weren't and I was," she said, half-defiantly. Let him take her to task over doing such an unwomanly thing and she would show him the Frasers bred no meek wallflowers.

"Ye're lucky my brother happened to see ye. Or the cows didna step on ye."

She was surprised he made no attempt to scold her for her unwomanly behavior. Her father had often enough. "My leg . . .who set it?"

"Me. They didna tell ye I'm a physician? Because none o' those great gawks would be able to set a breakfast table, much less a wee lass's leg." He snorted, his eyes glaring at his gaping clansmen, all except Neal.

She felt a kind of forbidden thrill run through her as she thought of those graceful yet strong hands on her ankle, touching her and fixing what was broken. "It still hurts, but . . . the pain is bearable."

"I can gi' ye something for the pain once we get to yer home," he assured her.

He clucked to Auriel and they began to walk slowly towards the Fraser keep. Belle found that even though her leg pained her and she was now heading back to the very place she had so diligently tried to escape this morning, in the arms of the man she had vowed to never marry, she felt strangely and pleasantly weary. She unconsciously leaned her head back against Rab's shoulder as they rode, his mare's gaits were so smooth she felt like she was in a cradle, being rocked to sleep.

A part of her was screaming she must have had the wits knocked out of her, to allow her enemy to hold her this way, and bring her back to a wedding she didn't want to participate in. But the other part was saying how very nice it was being held like this. Then she recalled that she was sitting on his lap and blushed an even duskier rose.

The party arrived in the Fraser bailey after an hour had passed, and were greeted by Marcus and his lady Margaret themselves, who had been warned of their approach by their lookouts long before they had gotten to the keep. Shock and gasps of alarm exploded from her parents lips when they caught sight of their daughter being held across the saddle of the slight Highlander on the beautiful cream and gold horse.

"Why, Belle! What in heaven are ye doing with . . .err . . .that man?" Margaret blurted.

"That man will be her husband," blustered Malcolm. "'Tis my heir who has her."

"But what are ye doing with him when ye should be upstairs getting ready?" Marcus asked. Then he caught sight of Belle's ankle. "What happened? If that blackguard harmed ye . . .!" He looked as if he was about to draw his sword.

"My brother dinna hurt her!" Neal spoke up indignantly. "'Twas he who saved her. She was lyin' hurt wi' a broken ankle an' Rab fixed her up. I found her like that, passed out on the field."

"What were ye doin' in the field, Belle?" Margaret frowned, concern for her daughter and exasperation at her waywardness chasing themselves across her face.

Belle sighed, knowing she couldn't tell them the truth, at least not all the truth. "I was delivering a cow, Mama. She had twins and one was turned wrong, so I—"

"God's foot!" groaned her father. He had hoped to keep his daughter's odd behavior a secret until the vows were spoken. "My daughter has a thing fer the beasties, ye ken," he began as an apology.

"Well, then my son and the lass ought to get on all right," Malcolm chuckled. "He treats his beasties like kin, and he's one too."

His men laughed at his wicked wit, and Marcus smiled politely. "Please. Come in and refresh yourselves."

"How did ye hurt yer ankle?" her mother asked.

"The cow kicked me," Belle admitted. "And milord here set it—"

"Rab. Call me Rab."

Margaret eyed him up and down. "Ye don't look like much o' a warrior."

"Mother!" Belle gasped.

"I know how to use a sword, but I prefer healing people to rending them," Rab answered calmly.

"I see. Well, I'll call some servants to help ye with ye're bags and get yer rooms settled. Belle, I'll send Duncan an' Mike t' help ye to yer room."

She bustled off to see to everything, leaving Rab and Belle alone upon the horse.

Rab gently shifted her in his arms, asking softly, "Can ye hold on to my mare while I dismount?"

"Aye." She waited until he had dismounted before sliding down the horse's shoulder. Rab immediately went to hold her up, then she said, "She's verra bonny. Yer horse."

Rab beamed with pride. "Her name is Auriel. It means—"

"Gold in Latin," she said quickly.

"Ye have a fine education," he approved.

"What kind of mare is she?" Belle asked eagerly.

"She's called an Arabian, bred in the deserts o' Arabia. I received her as a gift from my physician mentor before I left Edinburgh. She's wicked fast an' yet has the endurance o' a much larger horse. She's also intelligent an' sweet natured."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Daft bugger! Rab, ye're supposed to compliment a lady on her figure or her eyes or her clothes, not stand there blathering like a half-wit about yer horse!"

Rab flushed at the censorious tone.

Belle found herself longing to put the crass laird in his place, so she turned to him and said, "I've had better conversations with horses than certain people!"

There were titters from the men watching, and one said, "Maybe the lass finds the horse bonnier than Rab, aye?"

"Could be," Malcolm grunted. "God knows he's no' much t' look at."

Rab reddened further at the slur.

Belle was horrified that his father would mock him so in front of his men and her own and was about to refute the statement when Neal spoke up.

"Papa, you're drunk so ye can't see straight."

This brought forth another round of chuckles. Malcolm glared at Neal.

"Hush yer mouth, laddie!"

He aimed a cuff at the boy, which the other ducked.

"Ye'll have t' forgive my father," Rab drawled, his tone laced with sarcasm. "He sometimes hae trouble recalling his manners and controlling his tongue when he's had too much t' drink. Sometimes he doesn't even realize the words that come out o' his mouth."

Malcolm opened his mouth to answer, but was forestalled by some of the Fraser servants coming in to assist Belle into the castle.

One, Donald, a big lad of about twenty, brought her a wooden stick and the other, Michael, an older man, offered his arm or to carry her if she wished.

"No, thank ye, Donald. I think I can make it on my own," she said, determined to do so and not show weakness in front of the carping ape of a Carlyle and his retinue. Well, she amended, they weren't all apes, not the boy Neal or her . . . groom-to-be.

Swallowing, she used the stick, awkwardly and took a step forward, almost hopping. Her servants stayed beside her, and shot glares of animosity towards the Carlyles, which over half of them returned.

Rab watched, wanting to help, but fearing he'd be rebuffed.

Belle took a few more shuffling steps, and he saw how they exhausted her because she wasn't walking with the crutch correctly.

Suddenly Rab approached her, his innate compassion and physician's soul unable to stand by and watch as she struggled, because she could potentially hurt herself further and certainly tire herself out needlessly.

"My lady," he murmured, his voice tinged with concern. "Ye're no' usin' that the right way."

Belle halted, feel frustrated because she could barely walk two feet to the castle doors. She eyed the Carlyle heir with more than a bit of irritation, because once again she had been found wanting—first for admiring hs horse and now because she couldn't walk with a crutch!

"Ye ken a better way, sir?" she queried rather waspishly.

He ignored the tone, most patients tended to get upset when they were uncomfortable or in pain, and needed someone to vent at, and that someone was usually the physician. "Aye. Ye need to put the crutch forward slightly, and then lean the injured side on it. Then ye take a step with the other foot like ye were walking, do no' jump like that, because ye'll exhaust yerself or ye could become off balance and fall. Here, I'll show ye." He gestured for the larger man, Donald, to hold Belle up while he took the crutch and demonstrated for her, so she could see exactly what he did.

"Once I sprained my ankle verra badly," he explained. "And I needed this for over three months till it healed right. That's when I learned to walk wi' this."

Belle watched closely how he maneuvered using the stick, and once she had done so, said, "Thank ye for showing me, doctor. 'Tis not easy tryin' t' walk with one leg."

He handed the stick back to her. "Aye, I ken," he said feelingly. "'Twill take a while for ye to adjust. But—" he wagged a finger at her in caution. "Ye must stay off that leg for at least twelve weeks and then let me check again t' see how it's healing. I shall give ye something for pain as soon as ye get inside and I have water handy to mix it with. It's verra strong an' will probably make ye sleep," he warned. Which was all to the good for sleep mended best of anything.

He wished however that he was home at Carlyle keep, for in his workroom he had something that his Arabic mentor had taught him to use for broken bones, besides giving a patient comfrey and poppy seed extract for pain. It was a solution where you soaked bandages in something he called plaster to stiffen them and when they dried, created a hard shell, almost like armor, for anything they were put around. This "cast" as he called it, would protect the ankle as it healed better than normal splints. But he had nothing like that here, and none of the ingredients to make more, so he would make do with what he did have.

Perhaps, he thought, maybe it was better to wait before casting the ankle, since he had observed that a patient's leg or foot often swelled up initially and if the swelling subsided later, as it often did, the cast might be too loose.

"I will," she said tightly, lines of stress and pain about her face as her ankle suddenly started throbbing with a vengeance.

They came to the stairs, and rather than have her attempt them, Rab said to Donald, "Carry yer mistress inside and to her chamber. And have someone bring some water to wash with, soap, clean cloths, and some large pillows. Also a half a glass of cider and some pure water to drink. I need to mix a pain tonic."

"Aye, milord," Donald said, responding to the tone of quiet command, and he gently picked Belle up and cradled her like a child, after giving the crutch to Rab.

They entered the keep, walked through a portion of the small entry hall and then up a staircase to the rooms above. Family crests hadn't yet come totally into vogue in Scotland, but the Frasers did have a banner with their lord's colors on it hanging on the wall and also their badge of yew accompanied by the Scottish thistle. Underneath the badge were the words, "All my hope is in God."

When they reached her chamber, her old nursemaid, Brianna Potts was there as well as Margery and Alanna, her two undermaids. "Och, lamb, what hae ye gotten up to now?" the older woman exclaimed as she was carried inside. "Put her down on the bed, and mind ye don't drop her!" she ordered Donald.

"Aye, Missus Potts," the boy said, with a slight tone of fear, for Missus Potts could wield a wooden ruler with the best schoolmaster, and many a naughty thieving scamp had felt the sting of it if she caught them snitching something. He set Belle gently on her bed.

In a trice her maids descended upon her like a trio of well-meaning clucking hens, stripping off her gown, bathing her face and hands and Missus Potts tisked over her hair and then gently brushed it out and rebraided it.

By the time they were done, Belle was ready to kick something, she was irritable, hungry and her leg hurt.

In the fifteen minutes it had taken to help his bride-to-be, Rab had prepared the tisane from his medical satchel's ingredients in the corner of the room by the washbasin, his back turned to what was going on by the bed. Lady Margaret appeared and queried about what he was doing, and Rab explained about the properties of the comfrey mixed with the cider and the crushed poppy seeds mixed in a tea with honey for pain.

"I would also suggest ye bring her something to eat, since sometimes the tinctures I use can be upsetting to an empty stomach."

"Is bread, cheese, and fruit all right?" Margaret asked fretfully.

"Yes, and to that I'd add an egg soft boiled," the doctor replied.

Margaret sent one of the maids down to fetch Belle the food Rab had ordered, then she waited until Missus Potts and Alanna were finished before she approached the bed where her daughter was lying, her injured ankle propped up on three pillows.

"How do ye feel now?"

"Like I've been run over," Belle admitted honestly. "Where is that doctor got to? He may talk sweeter than honey but I swear he's slower than God's own slug!" she growled, since now both her wrist and ankle were setting up a chorus of painful throbbing.

"Belle! 'Tis yer husband yer speakin' so poorly about," Margaret chided.

"I've heard worse, madam. From patients and my own kin," Rab chuckled. He carried his medicines to the bed and set them on the small nightstand where a book rested. Then he looked down at his betrothed, noting that she had cleaned up very well, and now he could appreciate her lovely features when they weren't smeared by grass and dirt. "I'll gi' ye the potions in a minute, but first I'd like ye t'eat something. 'Twill make the potions less hard on yer stomach did ye have something in it first."

Now Belle felt like a guilty schoolgirl, and she said contritely, "I'm sorry. I'm just not used to . . .this type of pain. I've never been injured this badly before and I'm not handling it well."

But Rab did not chide her, instead saying, "No one handles being injured like this well, lass. Why grown men have cursed me out to my dyin' day if I didna imitate Jesus himself and heal them quicker than blinking." He gave her a wry look—rather like a mischievous grin.

"I'd no expect that." Belle said with some disgust.

"Then ye are brighter than many a man I have tended," Rab told her, then turned as Margery entered the room with the tray of food.

"I brung ye enough fer two, in case milord doctor was hungry also," she said shyly, and bobbed them a curtsey after she had put the tray on the table.

"Thank ye, lass," Rab called after her as she scurried from the room.

He pulled up a stool and helped her balance the tray across her lap and they both ate from it. There were new summer fruits, plums and pears, a wedge of yellow cheese, and some freshly baked bread with butter and honey. There were also two eggs in egg cups with spoons. The eggs had been sprinkled with salt.

This was accompanied by some ale in a pitcher, but Rab cautioned her to forgo it and drink the cider instead. "Some o' my herbs doona go well with alcohol, ye ken. So 'tis best to avoid it."

He, however, had a small glass with his meal.

Margaret, relieved that they seemed inclined to talk and Belle was not going to throw a book at him and order him away, and she had seen herself that the herbal tonic was not poisoned, decided to leave and have Missus Potts look in on them every once in awhile.

Belle ate hungrily, finding she was starving, and inbetween bites, Rab allowed her to swallow his two potions. She found that both were not bad, and asked what was in them.

He readily told her, explaining what the herbs did.

"Then ye doona believe in bleeding a patient? Or mixing up potions with mare's piss and cow dung and crushed pig's intestine?"

Her betrothed looked utterly revolted. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, no! That is disgusting, and a practice of shills and fake hedge witch doctors, not true medical practitioners. That's more likely t' kill ye than cure ye. As fer bleeding, there's a debate goin' on as to the efficacy of it along wi' the humors . . .and my mentor was one who didna believe it was necessary except in an extreme case. For a fever he advocated rubbing a patient down with vinegar and cool water and giving cool liquids an' tincture o' willowbark and sage tea. And plenty o' hearty broth and bread and fruit. I hae used that method many times an' the patient has always recovered."

"It . . .never made sense t' me why ye should bleed a patient," Belle admitted. "Since blood is life an' when a person's bleeding ye stop it from happening. So why bleed a patient who is sick? Wouldna it make him weaker?"

Rab nodded. "Ye are smart, Mirabelle. 'Tis what I hae observed too an' my mentor Dr. Azhir."

"Please, call me Belle," she requested. "Mirabelle was my grandma's name an' I always look for her when someone calls me that."

"Does she live wi' ye?" was his next question.

"No. She passed on some years ago." Belle said. She still missed her grandmother, who though she had been old, had been very astute and had encouraged her granddaughter to use her mind and to help animals.

"I'm sorry," Rab said automatically.

"She was verra old, almost ninety," Belle told him. "It was time for God to call her home. But the keep hasna been the same wi'out her."

"Aye, I know the feeling. 'Twas the same wi' my mama when she passed." Rab said sympathetically. "My papa . . .hasna been the same since. When my mama was alive . . .he kept his drinkin' and his smokin' an' gamblin' to a minimum, b'cause that was how she wished it an' in his own way he loved her. But once she was no longer there . . .he does all o' it an' more."

"Do ye think it's 'cause he's grievin' her?"

"After so many years, I think it's bein' a contrary stubborn noddlehead!" Rab snorted. "He's like a lad newly released from lessons fer the summer, full of spit an' wind an' rarin' to do whatever mischief his head can think up. I thought eventually he'd settle down, but he's been doin' this for nigh on seven years now."

Belle blinked. It sounded like the laird had problems and she was none too pleased to have a drunken gambler for a father-in-law. But there was little she could do about it. She finished her egg, fruit, and some cheese, then drank some more of the tea and ate the bread.

Observing, Rab informed her, "Ye should feel the effects o' that tea in a short while, about half an hour or so. Mebbe a little more since ye've eaten." He finished his own meal and sipped at his ale. Seeing she was still uneasy, and seeking to put her at ease, he said, "I dinna drink much. No' like my papa. A doctor an' a lawyer such as I cannae afford such. We need to be clearheaded and have steady hands."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said sincerely. "I . . .confess I dinna know much about ye or yer family except . . .except what I heard growin' up about the Carlyles."

"I can guess what ye heard from yer reaction when ye woke on my horse. Ye though we were all beasts from hell who drank the blood o' babes an' ate raw meat and looted n' pillaged an' raided all day got drunk all night and beat our women. Aye?"

Belle nodded. "When ye put it like that—it does sound rather—crazy but . . .when ye've been told that yer whole life, and ne'er met a Carlyle who dinna have killin' on his mind . . ."

"'Tis hard to see the good in anyone," Rab finished. "We heard much the same about ye Frasers. That ye were cowards an' thieves who stole our land an' ye were witches an' in league wi' Satan. They tol'd me ye were an odd lass, not quite like th' rest o' them-ye read an' talked t' the beasties an' preferred animals over people."

"An' they tol' me ye were a coward who became a doctor cause ye were afraid t' fight an' ye drank blood at the full moon an' were as dark as they came," she retorted.

He put his chin in his hand and gazed at her earnestly. "An' now? Now what d'ye think?"

She pondered for a moment. Everything he had done since she had met him had been with gentleness and consideration for her. He had set her ankle, calmed her from her panic attack, yelled at his papa for her, and treated her like a gentleman. She had seen for herself he was a good rider and intelligent, certainly more intelligent than many of the suitors her father had introduced her to these past years. And he didn't drink, and she doubted if he worshipped devils, danced naked in the moonlight, and beat little children for fun.

"I think ye are, after all, a gentleman," she replied. "And ye seem a good doctor also."

He dipped his head. "Thank ye for yer honesty. And I think it matter no' to me if ye talk to animals an' tend t' them. God has given ye a gift, like He has me wi' my medicine, an' the gift t' heal is naught to be ashamed of. An' I like t'read also an' I talk t' my cat, Raine, sometimes because the cat is smarter than half the people I know."

"Ye like animals then?" she spoke before she thought, then she could have bitten her tongue because now she sounded like a dolt. "Well, that's a silly question o' course ye do. Ye have that fine bonny mare an' a cat too. D'ye have dogs?"

"I did. But my Bruce died a year ago an' I havena found another dog as good as he was. Bruce was a collie, a fine lad, though a scamp sometimes. He used t' chew my boots, actually everyone's boots, an' my papa would threaten to put a hole in his head but he never did. He died when a rogue sheep kicked him in the head."

"Oh! Oh Rab, I'm so sorry!" Belle had tears in her eyes.

"So was I, but . . . God must hae wanted him," Rab said sadly. "An' why not, seein' as he was a great sheepdog." He didn't tell her he had given the dog a burial and put a cross on his grave. Malcolm had called him a fool for grieving like he would over a son, but then Malcolm had never understood how Rab had loved the dog like a child.

"I'm sure he's happy now wi' the other animals in heaven," Belle agreed, whispering because one of the church tenets was that animals had no souls, and therefore could not go to heaven. She gazed at him defiantly. "I believe that animals go to heaven too."

"Aye, as do I. I see no reason why they shouldna. Most animals are better friends than people. At least they doona betray ye an' one day say they love ye an' the next slip a knife in yer back."

Her eyes grew wide. "Ye mean that? Truly?"

"Aye. I dinna say what I dinna mean," he said. Then he asked, "Do ye have a favorite pet?"

Belle chuckled. "I have many animals that I care for . . .but my one dog passed away two years ago, she was a very old hound named Clarion, because you could hear her bay for miles around. I had her since I was a child, and since then I haven't gotten another one, I've been so busy looking after all the keep's animals. I also had a bird, a yellow finch I tamed, called Sunny, but he died also, they don't live very long in captivity."

Rab was silent for a moment, then he said, "T'would seem we have more in common than we thought. Would it ease yer mind if I told ye that at Carlyle castle, ye'd be allowed to nurse whatever animal ye saw fit . . .and keep whichever one ye took a liking to?"

"Are ye tryin' to bribe me, Dr. Carlyle?" she queried impishly.

"Bribe? No. Make ye more eager t' come home wi' me, aye. I ken this was what neither of us wanted, Belle. I never expected t' marry at the queen's command. I thought I'd have time t' pick an' choose a wife." He spread his hands. "But . . . that was no' to be. So . . .we are here, an' we must make the best o' the hand we're dealt. Now . . . I've been thinkin'," he countenance took on a sudden slyness. "The queen commands we marry, but she didna say when. So . . .what if we agree to handfast ourselves first?"

Belle had never thought of that before. Handfasting was an old accepted custom in Scotland. It basically bound a couple almost legally for a year and a day. It was like a trial marriage, to see if they would suit each other. If, at the end of the year of living together, the couple determined they did not suit, they were free to separate and live their own lives, and if a child came of the union, there was no shame in it, and the father assumed responsibility for his son or daughter.

"But . . .handfasting is for a year and a day, to see if we'd suit each other. And whether we will or no', we must marry."

"Aye. But . . .'twill gi' both of us time to get to ken each other. I willna marry an unwilling bride. That is no' how I wish to begin a life together, Belle. An' perhaps, by the time the year is up, ye will see who I really am. Besides, yer leg needs t' mend and so does yer wrist. The handfasting will gi' us time to heal and to learn t' live wi' each other. What do ye think?"

"I think . . . it's a grand idea," Belle exclaimed, thinking that at least with her leg injured she need not worry about consummating the marriage just yet, and if she looked at the handfasting as a kind of courtship, she felt that she would be able to get past the fact that the man was an enemy she had been brought up to despise. "But . . . will we be able t' convince our parents o' that? And what about Queen Mary?"

"I shall hae t' write a letter to the queen. But I think as long as we're handfasted, then the peace will be kept an' she'll be satisfied. As for our parents—Belle?" he called, for suddenly she had fallen asleep. "Finally, the poppy tea worked," he sighed in relief. "I'll speak to our parents, dearie. I'll make sure there's no problem."

He rose, after gently tucking the blankets about her sleeping form, and was prepared to request an audience with Marcus Fraser and his father, when a young servant girl rushed up to him as he was crossing the hall. Malcolm and Marcus were at the high table, drinking and talking.

"Oh! Milord Rab! Ye must come quickly. 'Tis yer brother, Neal is it?"

"What's happened?" Rab demanded, alarmed. "Is he hurt?"

"Please, ye must stop them," she pleaded.

"Stop who?"

"Yer brother an' my cousin Alasdair are fightin' in the stableyard. Yer brother, he took exception t' my cousin callin' ye a dark warlock an' . . .please!" She begged, taking his hand. "I tried t' stop them but . . ."

Rab muttered a curse in his head then followed the desperate young maid, who seemed to be around fourteen, out to the stableyard.

Before he even got there he could hear Winter barking excitedly, and when he came into sight of the two boys, saw that Neal had a redhaired lad of about his age on the ground and was drawing back a fist, his dark eyes snapping with temper, yelling, "Ye take that back, ye cowardly dog! Nobody calls my brother a dark warlock devil worshipper n' gets away wi' it!"

A/N: Glad you all like this and hope you enjoy what went on here. What do you think will happen next?

Historical note: At this time the clans didn't have registered clan plaids or wear the belted plaid kilt but they did have colors and patterns they preferred and one clan would recognize over another. They also didn't have a clan heraldic standard yet, but I do have them have a motto and a badge, since I think those things might have predated the others. Also, the first Arabic doctor invented plaster bandages in or around 1000 AD, though the date is flexible and the idea didn't take root in Western medicine till much much later, but I have Rab using them because his mentor was Arabic and would have taught him the practice. The herbal preperations are actual ones that herbal doctors, especially in the Eastern traditions used and still use today.