Mariote

by Suzan Tisdale

  Being the practical sort, she realized now that the wedding itself was not nearly as important as the marriage. A marriage was a partnership, and not one to be entered into lightly.

  As she made her way out of the forest and onto more even terrain, she could not help but think of how her life was about to change. Soon, she’d be meeting Conner and together, they would ride to Inverness to marry.

  Oh, why could she not remember his face?

  They had, according to his letters, met last spring, here on McCullum lands. Alysander had invited neighboring clans to a festival of sorts. The MacGavins — while not Alysander’s favorite of people — had also been in attendance. She could remember seeing the MacGavin, Conner’s father, as well as his mother. But try as she might, she could not conjure up an image or any memory of meeting him.

  I look more like my mother’s brother, he had explained in one of his earlier letters. Dark of hair and brown of eyes, he had told her. Nay too tall, nay too short.

  There had been hundreds of people here, so it stood to reason she wouldn’t remember everyone. And she hadn’t been there every moment of the festival, for she had left numerous times to tend to either a sick or injured person.

  But he had remembered her.

  The thought that she had left such an impression with someone did her heart good. For far too long, she’d felt invisible amongst her own clan. More specifically amongst the men of her clan. Nary a one of them ever paid her a moment’s notice, unless she was stitching them up, or helping them through a bout of one illness or another.

  But the man whose attention she wanted most to garner, well, he didn’t even know she existed. At least that was how it felt. No matter what she did to gain his notice or turn his head, he always seemed indifferent to her. ’Twas not to say he was cruel or rude. He simply didn’t notice her.

  The sun was beginning to rise as she made her way toward their pre-determined meeting place. Oh, how she hoped Conner would not be disappointed in her appearance. Deep down, she worried he might have mistaken her for Esa who was, as far as Mariote was concerned, the prettiest of all the sisters. Mayhap his recollections of that day were not quite as clear as he thought them to be.

  What would she do then, were that the case? ‘Twould be an embarrassment she was quite certain she’d never recover from.

  Keeping their horses at a slow pace, Lachlan and Willem followed the footprints Mariote had left in the snow.

  Willem chuckled. “Were it Orabilis stealing away, our task would be far more difficult.”

  Lachlan nodded. “Aye. That child be more fierce than most grown men.”

  “Betimes, she scares me,” Willem admitted.

  Lachlan could not necessarily disagree. “Could ye imagine what she would be like were she born a boy?”

  Willem shivered at the thought. “She would be king of Scotia by now.”

  They laughed in low tones before turning their attention back to the matter at hand. “I still can no’ believe Mariote has done this,” Willem said. “I thought her a far more practical sort.”

  “She is practical,” Lachlan replied defensively.

  Willem gave a sideways glance and tried to hide his smile. “Well, I can no’ rightly blame her.”

  Lachlan pulled his horse to a stop, staring at his friend with mouth agape. “Are ye daft? She has stolen away in the dead of night to marry the son of one of her father’s enemies.”

  “Mayhap she got tired of waiting for someone else to ask fer her hand.”

  Lachlan clenched his teeth, his anger building as jealousy reared its ugly head. His friend was right, of course, but not for the reasons he thought. Willem had no idea how Mariote felt about him, but Lachlan did.

  Remaining silent, he urged his horse forward, wishing now that Willem was not with him. He had no doubt they’d soon come upon Mariote. And when they did, she would take one look at Willem and believe ’twas he who had come to rescue her and not Lachlan. She would believe Willem had come because deep down, he loved her. ‘Twould be Willem who would make her heart pound in her chest. ‘Twould be Willem she would thank for rescuing her from her self-made folly.

  And ‘twould be Willem who she would give her heart to for all eternity.

  But he did not love her. He would never give his heart to just one woman, for Willem McCullum loved all women. But only in the biblical sense, not with his true heart.

  Willem was a scoundrel if ever there was one. If Lachlan had even half a siller for every woman who had gladly warmed his friend’s bed, he’d be richer than the king. Women were drawn to the man like moths to flame, for he was as charming as he was handsome.

  It only made sense that Mariote was also attracted to the bloody fool. No matter how hard she had tried to convince Lachlan over the years that ’twas not Willem’s good looks and rakish personality that attracted her, ’twas his giving heart.

  Bah! The only thing Willem ever gave women was a few hours in his bed and naught else. Mariote was too naive to see it, for she was too giving and caring a person to believe anything bad about someone else.

  “How often do ye suppose Mariote has met with Conner?”

  Lachlan had no idea and told him thus.

  “Yet she has run off to be with him. How did that come about, do ye reckon?”

  That was a question that had been running through his mind since he learned she had left. “I do no’ ken,” he replied. “I do ken that if Conner had shown his face at the keep, Alysander would have run him off faster than a bolt of lightning.”

  Willem chuckled softly. “Aye, and the young man would have Alysander’s sword and boot lodged firmly in his arse.”

  Lachlan agreed as he searched his mind for an answer. None of Alysander’s daughters had left the keep in an age. “Do ye suppose they met at the spring festival?”

  “‘Tis a strong possibility,” Willem replied. “But would Mariote run off with a man she’d only met once?”

  Nay, Lachlan did not believe she would. “Muriale would be more prone to such a decision that Mariote.”

  For a long while, he searched quietly for an answer. How had this all come to pass? Then it hit him.

  Slapping his hand against his forehead, he pulled rein again. “The letters!” he exclaimed angrily.

  Willem pulled his own mount to a halt and waited patiently for an explanation.

  “Months ago, Mariote started to receive letters. She told me they were from an old friend. Someone she had grown up with when they lived in Glenkirby. But she would say naught else.”

  For years, she had shared nearly every thought with him, every fear or concern, as friends oft do. But the letters? She would never share with him what her old friend might have said. “I thought naught of it,” he whispered in dismay.

  “Those letters were from Conner,” Willem said, understanding settling in.

  ’Twas the only thing that made sense. “The bloody bastard,” Lachlan seethed.

  “Clever,” Willem replied. “A verra clever bloody bastard.”

  Lachlan rolled his eyes at his friend’s apparent appreciation for the deception.

  “Do ye think he truly loves her?” Willem asked. “Or be this a ruse to kidnap her?”

  Either thought was truly unsettling. “It matters no’, fer I will no’ allow either event to occur.”

  Willem chanced another sideways glance at his friend. “So will ye be askin’ fer her hand?”

  Lachlan’s head spun so fast, Willem was surprised it didn’t snap clear from his neck. He could not resist the urge to laugh at his friend’s distress. “What?” he asked in a challenging tone. “Think ye that no one can tell ye love the lass?”

  “Whatever feelings I have fer Mariote are me own,” Lachlan said through clenched teeth. And none of them mattered, for Mariote was most assuredly not in love with him.

  They rode along in silence for a long while before Willem spoke again. “What if,” he began, “we do no’ stop her before she meets up with Conner?”r />
  Stunned, Lachlan furrowed his brow. “We must stop her before she gets to him.”

  “Hear me out,” Willem said with a raised hand.

  Lachlan sighed before bidding him continue.

  “Mayhap we should wait to see if ’tis true love or a ruse,” Willem said. “If it be a simple matter of love, then we have naught to worry over. We can get the lass back home before anyone realizes she be gone.”

  A simple matter of love? Lachlan mused. Nay, there be naught simple about it. “And if it be a ruse to kidnap her?”

  Willem threw his head back and laughed. “Then we get to kill some MacGavins.”

  Lachlan was just furious enough to give a good measure of thought to the plan. Deep down, he prayed ’twas a kidnapping at play. That would be easier to solve than the matter of a woman’s heart.

  Chapter 4

  There he was.

  Conner MacGavin.

  He was not at all what Mariote expected. He was neither horrid to look upon, nor was he devilishly handsome. Straight dark hair rolled over the collar of his fur cloak. His nose looked to have been broken at least once, but it did not make him unappealing. Of course, he was nowhere near as handsome as Willem, or even Lachlan for that matter. But then again, what man was?

  By the time she made her way to the stream, the sun had crept its way up, long enough to say hello, before hiding behind dark, heavy clouds. The promise of more snow hung in the air. Mariote hoped they would be able to get to Inverness ahead of the storm.

  Crouched and hidden behind a patch of bramble bushes, Mariote watched him for a time. He was pacing back and forth, mumbling words she could not hear well enough to make out. Aye, he looked as nervous as a rabbit who had just spotted a hawk in the sky. Quashing the urge to giggle, she waited a little while longer before making her presence known.

  He loves ye, she kept telling herself. More than life or breath itself. How many times had he written those words to her over the past months? Too many to count. It stood to reason he would be nervous, for together, they were about to embark on a life-long journey.

  Then why didn’t she feel happier about it? Why did her heart not pound against her breast with excited anticipation? Why did her palms not sweat or her fingers tremble? Why did her lips not ache to feel his pressed against her own?

  Wasn’t that how she should feel?

  Her mother, bless her, had always been quite honest as it pertained to matters of the heart, on loving and joining with a man, and knowing the difference between lust and love.

  But her mother had been blessed by falling in love with Alysander. Deeply, madly, and passionately in love with him. So much so that she would refuse to allow any arranged marriages for any of her daughters. Nay, they would all marry for love or not marry at all. Mariote suspected Alysander agreed with the last part at least; they would not marry at all.

  However, Mariote’s circumstances were different. She was growing long in the tooth and impatient waiting for Willem to come to his senses. Reckoning she could live to be a hundred-years-old before the foolish man ever noticed her, let alone fell in love with her, she had made the decision to accept Conner’s proposal. Mayhap, someday she could love Conner as much as she loved Willem. Did that not happen frequently with arranged marriages? Two people thrown together for whatever reason, sometimes, often times, fell deeply in love with one another.

  Mariote considered this to be an arranged marriage of her own making. Alysander refused to find her someone, and with Willem not realizing she would be the best thing ever to happen to him, she’d taken it upon herself to find a suitable husband.

  And Conner was suitable enough.

  If his letters were any indication as to what kind of man he was, then he was generous to a fault, patient, loyal, and had a romantic at heart. Someday, he would be chief of his clan, therefore she need not worry that he could not take care of her.

  With her mind made up, she stood, brushed the frozen leaves from her skirts, grabbed her satchel, and stepped forward. “Conner?” she said, her voice breathy and nervous.

  He spun to look at her, his eyes as wide as trenchers. He smiled broadly, frozen in place for a long moment. “Mariote,” he finally managed to reply.

  They paused near the stream for a long moment, just looking at one another. Mariote could not help but smile at him, for he looked sincerely and genuinely glad to see her.

  “Did ye bring the horse?”

  A horse?

  After months of correspondence, of letters filled with naught but pretty words expressing his true heart and feelings, the first thing he asked was about a horse?

  “Nay,” she replied, feeling more than just a bit dejected. “’Twas impossible to get one without bein’ seen,” she told him.

  They stood a good fifteen feet apart. Even still, she could see anger flash behind his dark eyes. Feeling she ought to explain further, she said, “I had to be careful, lest I be seen. As it was, I had to sneak out through a hidden door in the wall.” ’Twas a full out lie. But she had promised Alysander and her mother long ago that she would never breathe a word about the secret tunnels. She had broken enough trusts this night. She’d not expose her family to any future risk.

  “Did ye bring coin?” he asked, looking concerned as his eyes darted around the clearing.

  Coin? “I have a few sillers,” she admitted, a sense of dread starting to form in the pit of her stomach. “Why?”

  “We will need to purchase a horse,” he said, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I too, could not get away on horseback. Me da has been watching me like a hawk these past days. He also cut off me allowance. I think he believed the threat of poverty would get me to change me mind about marrying Jean.”

  Confusion set in. “Jean?” she asked. “I thought her name was Claire?”

  “Whose name?”

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “The woman yer da wants ye to marry. I thought you wrote that her name was Claire.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Jesu!” He exclaimed. “I fear yer beauty is makin’ me a bit addlepated. I do no’ think I can remember me own name right now, so glad am I to see ye.”

  Mayhap he was just as nervous as she. Mayhap it hadn’t been anger she saw in his eyes, but disappointment. For now, she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Come,” he said, holding out an arm. “Let us away this place before anyone realizes ye be missin’.”

  Reluctantly, she grabbed her satchel and went to him. He did not take her hand, but instead, placed a palm on her shoulder. “I will no’ rest easy until we are off yer da’s lands,” he admitted.

  A wave of uneasiness washed over her. He was not behaving at all like she would expect him to, nor as she had hoped. When she’d thought about this moment, she envisioned him drawing her into his arms and stealing a kiss, so glad would he be that she was finally with him.

  Nay, she convinced herself. He was simply being honorable. He’d not take advantage of her. Knowing him as she thought she did, he was going to wait until they were duly wed before stealing kisses.

  Lachlan and Willem were lying on their stomachs some thirty feet away, well hidden behind a row of thick evergreens. As they watched and listened, their confusion grew. There was no joyful reunion between the two young people who were supposedly in love. No kisses, no warm embrace. One would think that, at the very least, they’d hug one another.

  What bothered Lachlan most was that the young man was unarmed. No good warrior would leave his own bed without his sword. But this lad? Lachlan couldn’t even see a sgian dubh hidden in his belt.

  And no horse? No coin? The fool clearly had not thought the entire thing through.

  As much as Lachlan was tempted to burst through the bushes and drag Mariote back to the keep, his good sense told him to wait. Mayhap this was an attempt at a kidnapping, for sure as hell it was not two people in love attempting an elopement. Who knew how many men were lying in wait.

  His blood bo
iled as he watched and listened. No matter what was afoot here, he would take great pleasure in gutting the man who had convinced Mariote to leave her home like a thief in the dead of night. The man’s lack of horse and coin proved he did not have the good sense God gave a goat. And he most assuredly did not have Mariote’s health or wellbeing at heart.

  Were it he who had perchance won her heart, he would have gone to her father and asked for her hand, as any good man would have done. If by ill luck her father had refused, he would have waited and proven himself worthy of the girl’s hand. Then, and only then, would he have considered running away with her. And if it had come to that? He most assuredly would have been better prepared.

  He and Willem watched in silence, waiting until the couple had left and were out of earshot.

  Looking to Willem, he said, “That is no’ Conner MacGavin.”

  “I ken that,” Willem whispered, “but who the bloody hell is he?” Slowly he got to his feet. “And why is he pretending to be Conner?”

  Lachlan shook his head as headed for the horses. “I do no’ ken,” he said. “But I intend to find out.”

  Willem stopped him from gaining his horse with a hand on his shoulder. “I think it best we wait.”

  “Wait fer what?” Lachlan asked, his brow furrowed into a hard line.

  “If this be a way to kidnap her, there might be more MacGavins lyin’ in wait,” Willem explained. “Mayhap far too many fer us to take care of on our own.”

  Lachlan thought long and hard before asking, “What do ye suggest we do? Stand idly by and watch her be taken?”

  Willem frowned and shook his head. “Nay, I be sayin’ we find out if lad be alone or if he has company. If we find he is alone, then we will act. But if there be dozens of MacGavins with him, we risk not only losin’ our own heads, but Mariote’s as well.”